


No cause is lost

by umihotaru



Category: Dororo (Anime 2019)
Genre: Awkward First Times, Drama, Fix-It, Fluff, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Sibling Incest, overdramatic teenagers, post episode 17 AU, stupid bros what would they do without Dororo, travelling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-02-29 14:06:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18779803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umihotaru/pseuds/umihotaru
Summary: This battle is already finished. The only thing still in question is what it will cost for Tahomaru this time.He really doesn’t care, though.Post episode 17 AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set after ep.17, written before ep.18 is out.  
> Be warned of the awkward non-native english! This is actually my first fic in another language and i have no beta so it's most likely a disaster.  
> I sense major angst ahead so i'm in a hurry to build a fluffy cozy au for myself and fellow souls, where those 3 are together and no one dies. Their potential dynamics fascinates me.  
> Hopefully will add more chapters (and smut) if manage to survive the next episodes (please my boys don't kill each other T_T)
> 
> Japanese words used:  
> waka - young lord  
> aniki - big bro  
> aniue - older brother  
> otouto - younger brother  
> wakizashi - a short sword samurai carried along with a full-length sword (katana)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if on the Cape of No Mercy, mercy was shown.

Tahomaru realizes this battle might have gone awry maybe before he is down on his knees, his hand clenched on the hilt of his wakizashi, desperately trying to pull it out just fast enough to meet his brother’s blade of a hand — but it is a strike of lightning aimed right at him, and no fast is fast enough, obviously…

He may have realized it long, long before that. Maybe he knew it was the lost cause right from the start.

…But right now he is still sure of his victory, proudly nurturing this newborn adamant inside his chest, feeling right, feeling _worthy_ at the long last. Having ordered his people to surround the small cape and hold the perimeter, he dismounts and walks down onto the shore. These two are standing back to back by the surf line, looking at him like cornered animals, his broth… _Hyakkimaru_ trying to shove the kid behind his back, but the kid stubbornly shoves _him_ back instead, as if determined to protect him. It’s almost endearing, but not to Tahomaru, not now. There is a short sword in his… — her?.. — whatever, _its_ hands, probably the kid took it from one of those unfortunate brigand scum spread in bloody piles across the shore, where the ghoul shark had its hellish feast until his br… _Hyakkimaru_ ended it shortly and mercilessly. Tahomaru witnessed the scene from afar: harsh, ruthless, but somewhat broken movements, since there was a mere stick in place of a prosthetic leg; the fountains of blood gushing out of the shredded beast, and _Hyakkimaru_ , all covered in red from head to toe like a demon (that he partially is) — Hyakkimaru who was suddenly crouching and disappearing into the white foam. There was a sharp blow at Tahomaru’s stone of a heart at the sight of his enemy fall. This is the joy of victory, he said to himself, the joy that he isn’t allowed to feel, because _it’s him_ who should’ve defeated Hyakkimaru, it’s him who should’ve ensured the life of his land with his own hands, not some stupid walking shark beast...

But Hyakkimaru didn’t perish: instead, he rose up from the waves, no stain of red on his pure white body anymore, and there was a leg, a _human leg_ of flesh and bones where the stick was just a minute ago.

Tahomaru wondered if some corner of his domain was washed away by the flood just now.

"I will end this with my own hands," closing the distance, he says through his teeth, his voice coarse, low, still unfamiliar to himself. He unsheathes his sword and raises it in the attack position in one smooth movement, his only eye fixed on the calm face of his enemy. He wonders what exactly Hyakkimaru is seeing with these fake eyes of his, but he probably will never know. "Hyogo, Mutsu, do not interfere. But don’t hesitate to kill him shall I not succeed".

The short "Aye" reassures him as he steps forward.

"Tahomaru," says Hyakkimaru flatly, emotionlessly, like Tahomaru is just another ghoul he has to eliminate. He isn’t begging for his life, nor even for the life of the kid. He makes no move. He just stays there and watches him intently with whatever vision he has — Tahomaru can clearly sense it.

And Tahomaru has but to raise a hand — and a cloud of arrows will down on them, leaving no chance even for this guy’s mad skills. Hyakkimaru would probably knock down one, two, maybe three and four, but not hundreds. This battle is already finished. The only thing still in question is what it will cost for Tahomaru this time.

He really doesn’t care, though.

"Hyakkimaru," he says back. "I have come to put an end to what we left unfinished the other day. No individual is more important than the life of the whole land. I shall not waver. So, raise your sword and fight me!" 

Hyakkimaru raises his head instead and slowly turns it around as if overlooking the surroundings. And Tahomaru can tell that he is perfectly aware of the encirclement, that he can even see each and every archer hiding behind the rocks and bushes. He feels nausea in his stomach but immediately restrains himself. He is in command of the army, and this is not a one-on-one dojo duel. The result is what matters, not his pride, not even his soul.

What soul is there to speak of, anyway?

The pain of humiliation still burns his insides. The darkness before his right eye will stay with him forever. But worst of all – is the scar burned by the image of his mother who spared him no word, no glance even on the edge of her death.

He attacks with all his force and determination, unleashing the dark vengeful yearning he has been repressing since that day.

Oh, what a hell of an opponent his br… _Hyakkimaru_ is! Tahomaru would boil with excitement if he was to fight him the other time, in his other life that is but a memory now, a useless, dangerous memory. Still, even now, it heats up his whole body, turns his blood into a rushing stream, makes his vision crystal-clear like sharp glass. He never knew how far he could go, dojo fights never truly making him, their previous encounter being too short, but now — now he finally steps beyond. He has no other way.

…Because every move of Hyakkimaru’s blades has the only objective: to kill. He is like a wild beast, an uncontrollable elemental force that has no idea about schools and technics, and just blocking his deadly strikes requires everything Tahomaru ever learned and much more. First few seconds he can’t even begin to think of attacking. But the duel drags on, no one can touch the other, and the more it lasts, the more featherlight Tahomaru feels. He doesn’t know how much time he has here, on the other side of his limits, but possibly not much, so he might as well take the chance now. And so, instead of blocking another stroke, he dives in, pushing his katana forward like a dagger.

He has an advantage: his full-length sword against Hyakkimaru’s bladed arms that, as effective as they are against monsters, force him to let an armed opponent too close to himself like if he was fighting with a mere knife in his hand. If it wasn’t for his demonic reflexes and speed, Tahomaru would cut him in seconds, before Hyakkimaru even had a chance to reach him… But he jumps away like a fierce snake, unimaginably fast, managing to turn even that move into a deadly strike that Tahomaru barely blocks. The steel clashes against steel with mad force, throwing them apart.

Tahomaru bounces back onto his feet, panting, waiting for Hyakkimaru to make a move — but his enemy is still on the sand a few feet away, awkwardly trying to rise, and there is a stream of blood flowing down his newly grown leg. _So I did reach him!_ Tahomaru realizes in utter shock, feeling a fever gushing up and down his body as he makes a step through the strangely thickening air… And suddenly there is a kid between them. It faces Tahomaru, its bare hands clenched angrily into small fists. Tahomaru curses through his teeth. The lightness of the battle is slowly leaving his body, but the heat remains, and it boils and boils, turning into anger. What a ridiculous nuisance…

"Away!" he shouts, stepping forward, going to just kick this little monkey out of his way...

"Don’t touch _aniki_!" The kid doesn’t move an inch, only clenches its fists tighter.

"If you want to fight, at least take up the sword," he kicks the wakizashi that the stupid kid let out of its hands in its direction, and no, of course he isn’t going to fight with a child, but he hopes to scare it away before the rushing of the blood in his body ceased completely.

"As if I’m going to fight you, you… you damn asshole!.. I'm not like you!"  

And the kid continues to yell, part of it just filthy swearing it must have picked up while hanging around some brigands and beggars and whatever scum it was born from, another part of it is just _aniki, aniki, aniki_ — as if Hyakkimaru actually was _its_ brother…

"Shut your mouth!" Tahomaru snaps, hot anger clouding his vision with red as he points his katana blade at the little worm who dares…

And of course, _of course_ Hyakkimaru is there in a second, back on his legs, paying no more attention to the deep cut on his thigh, all burning rage except for the dead glazed wood of his fake eyes as he stands there like a wall guarding his treasure… _his only domain._

He would kill for it too, Tahomaru thinks. He is about to kill for it. And _it_ is a girl — he realizes somewhere at the back of his mind, an angry little girl with bright eyes who is still fragile and cute and a little too soft behind all her swearing and brigand bravado.

This was not a tremble in his chest, Tahomaru says to himself as he raises his sword for the last round of this battle. This was not… he is not that weak, he is not some sentimental court lady; what he _is_ is Daigo’s heir, and it is his duty to end this, to save _his_ domain, to…

"…Oh stop already, you moron brothers!.." the girl screams as she hangs with her whole weight on Hyakkimaru’s arm that just began to move. And her whole weight can’t be a lot, really, but her _aniki’s_ blade actually freezes. So does Tahomaru’s. Her huge eyes are overflowed with tears and her big mouth contorts painfully as she kneels there by Hyakkimaru’s feet, clenching his elbow with her both hands, stupid and naïve child who still wants everybody to be friends… just like _he_ was before that day. Before the decision he made at the doors of the Hall of Hell. The child he is no more. "You are _brothers_ , so why you should fight each other?! Why you want to kill him?! Why should _aniki_ suffer for your stupid domain?! You are no better than those bastards who burned the children for their land to prosper! Than those who’d feed travellers to the ghouls and rob them for the wealth of the damn village!.. We’ve seen lots of such trash on our way, each of them telling it was for the sake of the people. Sacrificing innocent… But why you have the right to decide?! If you really want your people to live happily, then sacrifice _your_ fucking self, you— you fucking coward!"

Tahomaru inhales sharply. He feels like it’s the air itself that suddenly stills between them as the last trembling note dies on her lips. The air, but not Hyakkimaru. Hyakkimaru who is lightning-fast, needing no more than a tiniest gap in Tahomaru’s defense, a little wavering of the tip of his sword… 

His knees give up abruptly, wholly. He crushes on the sand, his sword knocked out of his hand, Hyakkimaru’s blades crisscrossed at his bare neck.

" _Aniki!_ "

" _Waka!_ "

"Stay away!!!" he growls.

The cold steel grazes his skin at the movement, but he barely feels it.

 _If this is my fate, then let me at least face it,_ he wants to say to his comrades, but the words won’t come out.

The fate of a coward.

If that’s what he deserves, he doesn’t want to be spared.

Even if he _still_ only has to raise a hand or shout a command for the arrows to pierce Hyakkimaru through...   

 _"Yes!"_ the cold stone tightens in his chest. _"This is what I should do! I just let my feelings get in the way again. I was supposed to stay strong yet allowed this little girl to weaken me…"_

"No commander should sacrifice himself, for he must lead the army," Tahomaru says through his clenched teeth. "No ruler has the right to sacrifice himself. To die is the easiest task, but to live on and do what you must… takes… sometimes it takes your heart and soul."

"No demon can take your soul if you won’t let them," says Hyakkimaru slowly, and this is the first time Tahomaru hears a whole sentence from him. His cold voice sends shivers down his spine. "They can take your body. Not your soul. _I know_."  

"Right," Tahomaru exhales, and there’s suddenly no air in his lungs, and he is gasping, seeing no sea, no sun, no shape of Hya… _his brother_ anymore, but just darkness clouding his only eye. "You are right. That’s why I’m offering it myself."

He sacrifices not his body, but his very soul so that his people could live on. Is it not fair? How can they not understand? that this is what he’s doing! Tahomaru’s composure shakes, and the voice betrays him.

"…Because they won’t just take my life. Even if I beg to trade it for yours, _aniue…_ they won’t take it. Like they refused to take the life of our mother."

He senses Hyakkimaru startle at that and realizes he must’ve been thinking all this time that she was dead.

Tahomaru looks up at his brother’s young face — barely any older than his own — and sees anything but determination. Hyakkimaru is lost, just as he is. The blades are slightly trembling, no longer pressed to his skin. Why? He fought with no restraint, relentlessly, his every hit aimed to kill, and now he wavers?

But would he, Tahomaru, have been able to take his life just like that? Not to strike in the heat of the battle, but coldly, calmly cut his throat while Hyakkimaru was kneeling before him, unarmed, exposed? Would the adamant in his chest have been enough — or would he have had to burn a hole in it?

They will all just die on this shore, he realizes with a sudden apathy, and the Daigo land will live on. There’s no other outcome. Regardless of what happens next, they _will both die_ , because no one can take one’s brother’s life and keep one’s soul alive.

Though he is winning the battle for his land, he feels defeated. Not at all an unfamiliar sensation. Tahomaru experienced it many times in his fifteen years: all those times his mother wouldn’t look at him, her thoughts wandering somewhere far away, praying and praying what he has no idea for. Or all those times his father would smile at him after Tahomaru would win another dojo fight, pride and praise in his words but no warmth in his eyes…

"I can’t save you now, _aniue._ The only thing I can do is to rid you of having to spill my blood with your hands, the blood of your own brother. Please, allow me to die like a samurai."

…And all he has to hope for is that Hyakkimaru would at least be smart enough to use his body as a shield to cover them from the arrows and try to escape. But looking at his still blank face he isn’t sure if his brother even gets the meaning of his words. Still, Hyakkimaru slowly lowers his blades.

Tahomaru takes this as a “yes”.

"…I can’t save you, for my warriors are free to choose whether to stay true to my father or to betray him and follow my will. But maybe the gods will protect you once more. And if they do, then run and stay away from this land. Kill all the remaining demons. And may all this land die and rot, if that is its karma."

" _Waka…_ " in the dead silence he hears Mutsu and Hyogo whisper, and he knows that _they_ will follow him, even if he orders them otherwise.  _We would follow you even to the depths of hell,_ they said once, their voices trivial like it was the most obvious thing. He never wanted them to.   

With that Tahomaru roughly undoes his belt and flips his kimono open, baring his chest and his stomach. He straightens himself on his knees, gripping the hilt of his wakizashi with all his strength. One sharp stroke and it’s over. He will bear the pain, pain is nothing. At least he will die like a samurai… and his brother will die with no blood on his hands.

Or maybe the gods will really save him…

Hyakkimaru moves the same moment as him.

…How much time is needed to unsheath the short sword and plunge it into his own stomach? Just one heartbeat. But Hyakkimaru is still faster. His blades clank and roughly tear the sword away from Tahomaru’s hands.

"Enough," Hyakkimaru exhales. "Enough sacrifices."

He lands on his knees, straining Tahomaru’s arms with his elbows since there are no hands. Only this is not needed — Tahomaru is unable to move anyway, his chest clenched with something too heavy and hot to hold any longer…

The kid is here too, continuing to yell:

"…Stop with your stupid samurai stuff! _To die is the easiest task!_ " she mocks him like a little monkey. "Why all of you are so eager to kill yourself while _aniki_ is struggling to _live_?! Has someone asked him how hard it is to live without his eyes, hands, legs and everything? And he still does! And you—"

"Dororo," Hyakkimaru says quietly, gently, his eyes never leaving Tahomaru’s face, and the girl immediately subsides.

"Why?" Tahomaru whispers, barely audible. "Why didn’t you let me?"

" _Otouto,_ " Hyakkimaru says, as if it was enough of a reason.

And maybe it is, because Tahomaru shakes at this word, at this voice, so coarse and awkward and tender at the same time, shatters into million pieces and falls apart, no longer understanding what he has to do, how he has to _live on_ — now, without this brother he never even knew existed. But maybe he did know, all along. Maybe that lost, lonely feeling in his very core all his life was that of a yearning for the one who was supposed to be always there beside him, holding his hand, learning alongside him how to walk, how to speak, how to hold the sword…

"You look just like her… like our mother," he blurts, staring at his face so close for the first time, only avoiding his eerie fake eyes.

"Tahomaru too."

"No, I only resemble the father."

"No. You’re not."

"You can’t even see me," he argues.

"I see your soul," Hyakkimaru defines. "Just like hers. Just like mine… but not. Brighter. No red in it. Not like… _that man’s._ "

"Brighter? Are you kidding me? How can it be bright when I—"

"It is bright."

There is a little smile on Hyakkimaru’s lips, and it immediately lights up his whole cold, handsome face, makes it soft and warm, so warm that Tahomaru wants to flee…

"I want it to remain bright. You don’t need to kill me."

Tahomaru’s breath halts. Brother suddenly releases him, only to— 

No. This time _he_ is faster.

Faster even than the girl who shrieks belatedly:

"Right! Let’s just all kill ourselves, and the demons will be happy! You idiot brothers! Idiot, idiot _aniki!_ "

" _Enough,_ " Tahomaru chokes, wrestling Hyakkimaru down and rolling on top of him as he struggles to pin his bladed arms to the ground. "You sacrificed _enough._ " And this hot _something_ in his chest is unbearable anymore, it overflows him, stings his eye and squeezes his throat, but Hyakkimaru just lets Tahomaru hold him, lying still, patiently, as if he really was a stupid little brother and not the enemy whom he fought mercilessly just a minute ago, who came with an army to claim his life…

Hyakkimaru flinches slightly under him as a few hot, salty drops land on his cheeks… his only cheek, to be fair, since Tahomaru’s empty eyehole just throbs painfully but won’t produce any water.

Hyakkimaru’s face looks astonishingly beautiful and so much like their mother’s, but still not completely so, when there is bewilderment written all over it. He reaches out but remembers that his prosthetic hands are lying somewhere on the sand, thrown away.

"What is it?" he asks, making Tahomaru gasp.

"You don’t know what tears are?.."

"Oh. I know," he says, realization slowly easing his features. "Water of eyes. Why only one?"

Tahomaru jolts back and freezes when his brother raises from the sand and presses his face to his cheek — the dry one under the missing eye.

"I want to feel. My hands can’t."

Well, that explains it... Hyakkimaru gently touches his skin with his own cheek, his nose, his mouth. Tahomaru stops to breathe, feeling all his nerves buzzing as Hyakkimaru slowly drags his lips along the line of his scar as if trying to decipher what it is… and it is healed enough not to hurt anymore but is still hypersensitive. He feels raw. Vulnerable. He wants to make just one gulp of air but can’t even find his breath.

" _Aniue…_ "

"I’m sorry," Hyakkimaru whispers. "I’m sorry."

"No. It was my fault."

"I’m sorry," he tastes the tears on his other cheek, and Tahomaru’s face burns, and he thinks that maybe, _just maybe_ Hyakkimaru too has been feeling that void inside all along, the void that is beginning to fill now.

"…So, did you reconcile already, you stupidest of brothers?" Dororo steps closer, her little face is flushed, but stern and determined. She’s carrying Hyakkimaru’s prosthetic hands. "Because there’s an army still hanging around there and we have to do something ‘bout it. Also, there’s a boat and it even has two pair of oars and I count on you to get us away from here as fast as possible."

She talks like he is the part of them already, Tahomaru thinks in astonishment. And she is absolutely right, for they seated here enough while his idiot brother was nuzzling at his face like some creepy pervert…

" _Aniue…_ let me kill the demons with you," he says, grasping his brother’s shoulders. "We did great with that giant crab, and maybe I would… you would…"

"Come," Hyakkimaru simply says.

A clear excitement begins to bubble in him, and Tahomaru feels young again, feels brave and free. He _feels_ again.

He stands up from his brother’s lap and only now remembers there’s a wound on his thigh that must hurt badly: his robe is dyed red, but the bleeding seems to stop by now. He watches for a moment Dororo helping Hyakkimaru to put his prosthetic hands on. Then he adjusts his kimono and collects his swords. Tucks them into his sash. At last, he turns to his comrades, who have been seated there on their knees patiently all this time, Mutsu's hand on her bow, Hyogo's on the hilt of his sword, ready to bare it in a moment. They didn’t interfere, just like he told them. Nor did they order the archers to shoot.

"Hyogo… Mutsu…"

And he _knows_ that where he is going now they just can’t follow. To die is the easiest task…

"Use this boat, _waka._ It is the only unbroken one on this shore. You will have the rest of the day to get away and disappear until we build some rafts to cross the water. Then we’ll hunt you."

He nods and swallows tightly.

"You served me well. Let our paths never cross again," Tahomaru sounds cold and collected as a proud sire he is, but his voice still falters at the end.

"I hope they will not, _waka,_ " his comrades are older and stronger and long beyond such things as hiding the obvious, and though their words are harsh, their faces are glistening with trails of tears.

 

* * *

"I have never been alone. Hyogo and Mutsu were there almost for as long as I remember myself…"

They cross the strait quickly enough for the coastal rocks to shield them before any uproar could arise among the warriors Tahomaru has left on Hyogo and Mutsu. They only ease the tempo when no arrow can reach them anymore, and Dororo, letting the rudder off, finally has the chance to tie her _aniki’s_ wounded thigh, unceremoniously tearing a stripe off Tahomaru’s richly embroidered kimono to use as a bandage. Not that he cares anymore. He has no more title, no more domain and no more home to return to. Maybe he should take off and burn all his Daigo crest adorned gown altogether…

"You are not alone," Hyakkimaru says, his face soft with one of his tiniest smiles.

"Right," Dororo rules the boat to the shore and quickly jumps off into the shallow water. "And just so you know, I and _aniki_ prefer to walk fast and sometimes we hunt frogs and mouses for the breakfast, so don’t you dare to slack off and whimper, you rich boy."

Tahomaru scowls, considering for a moment to give her a spank with his oar and drown her in the tide, but decides against it, reasoning he dealt enough with wild reflexes today to chase this little monkey.

A thick, soft warmth is slowly spilling and swirling inside his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added after episodes 21-22 were run: okay, so Mutsu really is a girl... Japanese and it's ambivalence XD Also, when I was writing this I didn't understand the whole depth of their relationship, nor did i realized how strongly determined to protect his land Tahomaru actually is. So, now it seems a total OOC. Well, this AU deviated from the canon too early. In the following chapters i'll (hopefully) get closer to the original in characterization.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ep. 18 nearly destroyed me, but it wasn’t enough to stop me writing my little AU :)  
> It was fun to see what I guessed right and what not. In actual ep18 Taho was more resolute and effective: no chivalry of one on one fight, leaving no survivors, wow just look how my child controls himself – he made the majority of the fandom hate him in just one episode! (he is still a good boy, he can't fool me, but count me impressed).  
> As much as I want my boys to be good brothers, I can’t help but admire this kind of determination. I guess I have a soft spot for the characters burdened with duty of rulership and hard moral choices, lol. 
> 
> Anyway, here’s my version. Everything goes slower than I planned as some actual plot somehow managed to crawl in, though I still have no idea where all this is going. So, i guess, more chapters to follow.  
> Mind that i'm not a native English speaker, so feel free to correct any mistakes if you feel like it ^^
> 
>  
> 
> _Oh, btw, "aho" means idiot in Japanese, but probably everybody knows that already XD_

Dororo is still grumpy at him and extremely bossy, though the last is probably the case most of the time with Hyakkimaru too. Except that his brother never argues — just does what he feels like doing (which often means following the girl’s wild ideas). Tahomaru can’t help wishing he had just a tiny part of this nonchalance too…

Having Dororo as a subordinate is a pure nightmare. They argue till they’re blue in the face over each little thing such as what way to go or when to take a rest. Tahomaru, used to simply saying his order and having it done, barely lasts through the rest of the day. By the time dusk leaches the green out of the hills and shadows tighten their damp embrace around their tired shoulders, he is about to go insane.

Dororo stops and crosses her arms, confronting him on the shady forest path.

“…No way we climb that mountain. We are going down the river, you idiot samurai prince. The river is where the water is. The water is fish. It means eat and drink and be alive. This is no palace with servants and lots of food for you on the plate, but it’s okay, you don’t need to be smart, just listen to what I say and do it!” by the end of the tirade she is almost barking.

“We are doing as I said,” Tahomaru sounds calm and cold as he crosses his arms too, looking down on her, his eyebrow twitching with indignation; he tries his hardest to ignore most of her rant and concentrate only on the essence, for he is not a boy anymore to get worked up over some arrogant little girl… “Which means going up to the mountains. There we hide and rest until brother’s leg is healed enough. To stay by the river is too dangerous: we’ll be caught in no time. So, stop wasting our time and comply.”

Dororo puffs her cheeks, unimpressed.

“Aniki, tell your stupid brother to stop bossing around. After all, _you’re_ the big one! It’s you who should decide!”

Hyakkimaru looks disinterested as he turns to look back at them, his face tired and pale from blood loss. He does say though:

“We go the mountain.”

“It’s ‘up onto the mountain’”, Dororo corrects him habitually, and Hyakkimaru complies:

“Up onto the mountain. We go.”

“Ugh, you’re just trying to be nice to him,” she sighs yet gives up. “Well, whatever. If you two starve and die, it’s not my fault…”

Crossing her hands behind her head, she goes on and on and on about everything as they turn off the path and follow a wooded slope. Tahomaru, choosing to bring up the rear, watches his brother’s slender back anxiously. He thinks of how lucky he was to not cut that leg off in his rage — or should he consider himself beyond lucky to as much as graze him at all. He thinks of how gently Hyakkimaru takes Dororo’s hand to help her climb over the fallen trunk and how much they look like a real family. He also thinks of finding some cave to hide and spend the night, hopefully with water nearby.

But for now, he refuses to think of the path he has left behind to follow his brother into the wilderness.

He just _knows_ if he had stayed around his father any longer, he would have lost it.

 

* * *

They do find a cave. It is small and narrow and lost so deeply in the woods, its dark mouth almost hidden within a giant tree roots creeping down the rock, that it’s bare luck they have stumbled across it. There is a small, swift stream nearby, too. Dororo sneaks around for a while and returns with some edible roots and grasses while the guys spear fish with their swords.

“No fire. We eat it raw,” Tahomaru orders, making Dororo squirm.

“Alright, we don’t need smoke, I get it,” she waves her hand, “I just hate raw stuff, okay…”

“And who is the princess?” Tahomaru sneers. “Well, don’t be afraid: it’s not salmon, of course, but still can make a decent sashimi”. He slices the fish with his tanto into fine pieces. “Here. Taste it.”

Dororo chews on it warily at first but ends up swallowing a few more pieces.

“Well, edible,” she grumbles just out of stubbornness. “I still prefer manju, though.”

The sun begins to sink behind the green Wajima hills by the time they finish their dinner. The whole land below is already soaked in darkness, white mists arising and curling over the crooked riverbeds and hundreds of lights beginning to gleam across the distant valleys. _“Just where do we go next?”_ Tahomaru thinks, _“and how do we hunt those demons with the whole Daigo army on our tail?”_ Did he make a wrong decision again? Should he have stayed and straightforward confronted his father? Should he have deposed and executed him? Could he even _do_ that and who, apart from Hyogo and Mutsu, would have supported him?...

“A-ah, I wish we could at least have taken a bit from that money to keep us going for a while…” Dororo yawns, stretching her back and leaning onto Hyakkimaru’s side. They sit by the old roots, his brother’s eyes closed; he seems to doze off, but you can never be sure with him. Tahomaru stands by the edge of the cliff, overlooking the land below.

“By the way… Why those two, I mean Hyogo and Mutsu guys, didn’t go with you?” Dororo asks. “I thought they are loyal to you, no?”

“Exactly. That’s why they stayed — to ensure that we escape safely. There was no other way. I know; after all, it was my own strategy,” Tahomaru says with a sense of pride.

“I don’t get it. Why couldn’t you just order your army to leave us alone and go back?”

“It was not _my_ army. I was set in command, true, but there were samurais among them who are only loyal to my father. I suppose he sent them with me to ensure the outcome. He didn’t trust me.”

Yes, Tahomaru knew that all along. Even driven by the resolve to kill his brother he did understand that the father he had always admired, the father he had believed to be the greatest man ever, _that father_ doesn’t give a damn about Tahomaru himself. He needs him as an heir. He needs him stone-cold and steel-sharp, completely merciless, just like himself. If Tahomaru is anything but that, he would just trash him without a second thought.

It turns out the only family he’s ever had was Hyogo and Mutsu…

“So what? Would those samurais have killed us? Like hell they could! You and aniki would’ve chopped them into pieces!” proclaims Dororo bloodthirstily like she wasn’t the one forbidding her aniki to fight humans and refusing to even take up the sword herself.

“They would’ve just shot you both from afar. And if Hyogo and Mutsu had left with me, those samurais would have immediately known that I turned against my father. I think they would have spared me and my men to bring us to my father, but maybe they would have killed us too, depending on what father had ordered them. But me splitting ways with Hyogo and Mutsu was beyond their understanding. At least for a while they should have been confused, wondering if it’s the part of some plan. Mutsu kept targeting Hyakkimaru with his bow the whole time so that it looked so.”

“Oh, so that’s how it was…” Dororo looks taken aback. “Wait! But that means Mutsu and Hyogo had to fight with those samurais once they realized the truth?”

“It might be so. Their allegiance is to my father, but to protect me is their duty.”

“But why did they say they will hunt us?.. They weren’t really meaning it?”

“It’s obvious,” he shrugs. “They said that only because it would have been immodest to emphasize their selfless act by saying the truth.”

“Arrgh I really don’t get your stupid samurai stuff!” Dororo fervently rubs her head. “…Could they really off all that samurais by themselves, though?..”

“Hyogo and Mutsu are good warriors,” Tahomaru says and presses his lips tightly. He looks north-west, between the hills, where the dark blue twilight has already swallowed the tiny bit of sea, and wonders whether his men are even alive by now; maybe they fought to the death fulfilling their duty to protect their _waka’s_ selfish whim like it was the world’s crucial matter; or maybe they came up with some story to explain Tahomaru’s disappearance and aren’t even considered traitors yet…

Or maybe it’s all just his wishful thinking. Maybe Hyogo and Mutsu chose the allegiance to his father and to the domain over him, after all. Maybe they _did_ mean their words.

“Taho… I think they did it not because it’s their duty, but because they love you,” Dororo mutters as she hugs her knees, hiding her slightly flushed cheeks. “I guess some samurais can be nice too...”

He turns around.

“Of course. _I_ am a samurai. Why are you calling me _Taho_ , though?” he raises his brow, trying to ignore the warm tickling inside.

“Why not, isn’t it your name? It’s short and convenient like that.”

“Short and convenient is how you address a dog, not a man who is older and…” he is about to mention his status but stops himself. They are equal in this. No titles matter. “…And who is the brother to the one you call brother.”

“Then what should I call you, _‘aniki’_?” Dororo snorts. “It’ll be a mess.”

“You should call me _aniue_ with all the proper respect—”

“We already have an _aniue_ too.”

He sighs exasperatedly:

“Whatever, just call me Tahomaru-sama.”

“Too long. Taho is better. Besides, it resembles _‘aho’_ which is also a plus,” she winks at him cheekily.

“You!..”

He breaks off as he hears Hyakkimaru quietly _chuckle_.

His brother looks at him with a smile that makes Tahomaru all dizzy again. And he realizes that he doesn’t even freak out looking at those fake eyes anymore, probably because he _knows_ that the look piercing through them is real.

“Hyogo and Mutsu be alright,” Hyakkimaru says. “We kill the demons. You return to them.”

“It’s ‘will’, aniki, you forgot it again.”

“You _will_.”

Tahomaru wants to answer something but finds himself unable to utter a single word, feeling a lump in his throat.

 

***

They sleep on the cover of leaves and brushwood, huddled close together to keep them warm in the damp coldness of the cavern. There is no sound apart from their faint breathing and occasional _drip, drip_ of unseen water in the dark. Dororo is snuffling softly and steadily, nestled in the crook of her _aniki’s_ arm; Hyakkimaru is laying perfectly still on his back, and there is no sound of his breath. Tahomaru can feel that he is awake; there is some odd sense of strain which is keeping him too from falling asleep.

“Taho…” at last calls Hyakkimaru hesitantly.

“Oh, not you too.”

“Tahomaru…” he says his full name softly, almost in a whisper. “Tell me about them. About… parents.”

It catches him off guard.

“You… really want to know?”

“I want.”

 _Drip, drip_ in the dark. He takes a breath and begins to speak quietly:

“Mother… mother is calm and gentle and very softhearted. She is like the Goddess of Mercy, the one she always prayed to, distant and kind to all the living… She has that beautiful sad smile that I always craved to see, ever since I was little. I admired her. But for me, she has always been an enigma. No matter what I did or how much I tried to make her see me, like, _really see_ , I could never reach her heart. Now I understand. Her heart has always been with you; she couldn’t stop thinking and praying for you even when she had no reasons to believe you were alive. After what father did to you, I believe she had never forgiven him; no one would have. You might have been a child of love. I… I was a child of obligation. I guess I always felt it, though never knew until recently.”

He pauses to let go of an old familiar pain threatening to crawl inside him once again. Hyakkimaru doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move or even breathe, so Tahomaru continues:

“Father… He wasn’t like that all the time, you know. He was cheerful and caring; he would hug me and lift me up into the air and make me laugh. He taught me a lot of things and always noticed it when I did well. In the evenings, I would go to his room and listen to his stories about wars and heroes. And those weren’t cruel bloody stories like you’d think, no, they were of strong-willed warriors and noble deaths for the country. He used to say that wars shall stop and there shall be no more suffering once the country is united… And for this to happen someone must conquer it all. I still believe this is right, but… can anyone do that and remain human? Is he even the same man who raised me — or have the demons robbed him of the last remnants of his human nature?”

Hyakkimaru still says nothing, staring blindly into the ceiling and maybe thinking about something that Tahomaru doesn’t even understand.

“Mama…” he utters after a while, using a child’s word he must have picked up from Dororo. “Mama said that too.”

“Our mother? When?”

“Not… _that_ mama. The one who raised me. Who gave me the name. And everything. He said that I not remain human when I kill the demons, my own family and people of Daigo.”

Paying no attention to his funny grammar, Tahomaru realizes that Hyakkimaru must have been facing his own dilemma all this time. It must have been hard for him as well, even though his calm face never betrays his inner struggles. He looked perfectly calm at that moment too — the moment he raised his blade to stop his own life, tired of everybody blaming him for numerous deaths and calamities. It still seems surreal to think about: even the strongest of the living who had been enduring their fate for the longest time can prove to be more fragile in the end than a helpless child entrusted to the river…

“Brother…” Tahomaru turns to him. “Would us killing the last demon mean that our father will be free of his deal — or will he die too?”

“I don’t know.”

“This is the only way for me… for us to return there. I’m not sure if I want it. I know he is the enemy, he is the one who…” he trails off, because he really doesn’t need to go there again, both of them perfectly aware of _who_ their father is, “…but I still can’t wish him death.”

“You should not. Don’t think. Sleep.”

“Yeah…”

…And maybe he is already asleep, dreaming of this solid warmth beside him, of a heavy arm bracing his shoulders as if to keep him from falling apart, firm wood followed by the softness of the human flesh; and maybe it is in his dream that he wonders what his brother is feeling right now as he holds this bunch of a familiar bright light in his hands… Tahomaru just hopes that it isn’t too bright. After all, his brother can’t even as much as close his eyes…

 

* * *

His dreams tonight are full of these lights. They are dancing around him, some dull and some bright, swirling, shaping up and dissolving, undecipherable creatures of a boundary world. Most of them are greyish, but one or two have more light in them, the kind of light that somehow seems to contain many colors yet appears to be white. There are red spots in the darkness, too. Some are too small and elusive, intertwined in white like sparks above the fire which never faded away. The other red one, though, being much more distant, nonetheless is reeking of evil, of something badly twisted and at the same time… familiar.

This form glows dim red in the dark, and it is moving there, slowly growing and shaping up into something like a huge butterfly — Tahomaru can’t say exactly since it’s still too far away… until it is no more.

He jumps to his feet, his sword finishing the swing with a squishing sound even before he opens his eye. Once he does, the monotone blackness of the night overwhelms him. Hyakkimaru is on his legs too, one of his arms taken off, but there is no work for his blade already.

He crouches over the dark clump on the cave floor.

“What is it?” Tahomaru asks quietly. Dororo is still peacefully snoring nearby.

“A ghoul. Looks like a giant bat. Not sure — it’s fading away. Not demon.”

“Oh, I see…”

“You were fast,” his brother turns to him. “ _Very_ fast. Weren’t sleeping?”

“I was. I just saw a dream that somehow turned to be real…” Tahomaru’s vision is now adjusted enough to distinguish Hyakkimaru’s form more precisely, as well as his intent, lingering stare. No one moves or speaks for a moment. “What is it?” Tahomaru asks uncomfortably.

“Nothing,” his older brother mutters, scrambling to his feet. “Let’s take it out.”

In the silver light of the full moon, Tahomaru distinguishes an ugly head covered with horns and warts and chaotic excrescences no gods would create even in their worst hangover. The skull is dissected almost perfectly in halves.

“Was it residing here, I wonder,” Tahomaru says as they pile up stones into a small barrow over the dead beast. “But the cave was clean, no signs of filth...”

“No. It go for us.”

“Why? And how did it find us here?”

“Red attracts red. They always find me.”

“You… you see it as red?” Tahomaru’s breath hitches.

“Only when it is alive. Dead is almost black. People are white or grey. Ghouls and demons are red.”

“But you said there is red in you and our father too…”

“Yes. Tiny spots. Mark of demons. Of evil. They see it and go to it.”

Tahomaru takes a breath, wondering was it even possible for him to see in his dream the same world that Hyakkimaru describes so precisely — or was it just his imagination playing tricks on him; after all, he can’t even be sure that his blind brother understands the names of the colors correctly…

“Do you mean we can just sit here and wait until the remaining demons come for you?”

“No. They won’t. They are afraid now. They want humans to do it, to kill me. They — hide and wait.”

Tahomaru knits his eyebrows:

“Then we’ll find those cowardly worms ourselves, whatever filthy hole they hide in. Find and cut them through, just like this one!”

Hyakkimaru once again gives him this strange stare as if scrutinizing something for a moment, but this time Tahomaru never asks, so he never explains.

 

* * *

“Such a burden, those human limbs, huh?”

Tahomaru examines the wound left by his own sword as they sit by the stream not far from the cave. Though deep, the cut on his brother's thigh is clean and smooth, the kind that heals leaving only a thin scar. And it is already beginning to knit. Tahomaru rips another stripe off his under-kimono for a new bandage.

“Don’t say that.”

“Sorry. But you must have forgotten that it was not a prosthesis but living flesh,” Tahomaru finishes applying some healing leaf mass on his wound and binds it up carefully. “Don’t be so reckless anymore.”

“No. I wasn’t reckless. You were just stronger than the first time.”

“Was I?” he marvels, looking up. “Or maybe it’s you who became a little weaker? Maybe all these human parts are not that much of a benefit for you, after all…”

“Mama said that too,” Hyakkimaru gets up abruptly, his voice trembling with a wave of sudden anger. “I still want them. They are mine! I will get my body back and kill them all!”

“I didn’t mean… Hey, wait, I just…”

“We should go. I must kill the demons. I go _now,_ ” he says and begins to stomp through the forest.

“No, you don’t. You rest and heal and stop being stupid. The wound is still open, and…”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I said wait!..”

“Hey, aniki! For once your little brother is right!” Dororo appears before them, her arms crossed on her chest and her legs apart, looking _very_ serious. “You stay here until your leg is alright because legs aren’t changeable. Or have you forgotten the last time you acted like that?!”

This last argument must have hit the goal since Hyakkimaru freezes, his determination lost at once.

…They spend the afternoon mostly trying to argue Hyakkimaru into few more days of rest, partly fishing and partly listening to Dororo’s stories about their adventures and encounters with the demons. She jumps chaotically from one tale to another, so Tahomaru quickly loses the track of body parts and senses his brother does or does not yet have in each story. For whatever reason, she leaves uncovered the first leg and the voice cases and maybe something more, but probably the demons who possessed those weren't as exciting as a giant two-headed flying worm or a beautiful lady with a demon tail. Tahomaru wonders what statues represented them in the Hall of Hell, and what calamity out of those that struck his land recently each victory corresponds to.

“Still thinking of your land?” Dororo jumps in front of him from somewhere above the cave hole, interrupting his thoughts.

How could he not think of it?

“Of course, I am.”

“I know. I was thinking of _aniki_ too, all the time after we parted.”

Hyakkimaru flinches at that, looking up at her, his face illuminated by the soft rose light of the sunset. His hair is down, still drying after the quick bathing they had in the cold river, dark and silky around his shoulders, making him look almost feminine and maybe even more beautiful than their mother.

“You parted?” Tahomaru furrows.

“Yup. At first, I was so mad at him and thought that he is so stupid and can starve to death without me for all I care. Because, you know, he only thought about himself and didn't give a damn about people. Well… that's what I thought before Itachi caught me.”

Hyakkimaru looks at her intently, his lips slightly parted as if wanting to say something, but he never interrupts.

“…But I missed aniki sooo, so much, and there was that shark guy, and no one would do anything, they just sat there and waited to die... So I kinda saved them, but they still didn't stop being assholes. And I thought then that people face death all the time, but some would struggle to survive, and some would just sit there and wait for someone to save them. But why ones should be saved and others not? If they want to live then they should fight with the strength of their own hands and hearts and souls!.. Just like my mama and papa, and aniki too! Sometimes it gets tough, yeah, but it doesn't mean you should make deals with demons to escape it. You know, my mama had the chance to use that money for us to live but she chose to die. And she knew that I may die too, being on my own against all the dangers and nothing to eat...”

“Then why you're saying that she struggled till the end?”

“Because she did what she could till the very end. But I think that money for her were just like demons. We could’ve spent them, but what next? The future my papa fought for would’ve been lost.”

Tahomaru feels growing admiration for this brave and wise little girl. He might have led his host back now, with his brother’s head attached to his saddle, covered with blood he would never, ever wash off, his soul a barren wasteland, — should it not have been for her words that stopped him.

 _Would you rather see your land a barren wasteland instead_? — his father’s voice crawls inside his head. He shakes it off harshly and stands up.

“Dororo is right, you know. You’ve struggled to survive all this time, I can’t even imagine how tough it was for you. But you fought with everything you’ve got! The demons, me, my father… And after all that — you just let this fake blame get to you and chose to slay yourself?..”

“When?” Hyakkimaru looks at him perplexedly.

“ _When?.._ What do you mean _‘when’_? Back then, on the shore, when you said that I don't need to kill you and started to move but I managed to pin your arms to the ground and...”

“No. I wanted to get up. I meant you should come with us. Then you don't need to kill me.”

Tahomaru gapes.

“No— no way you meant that! You’re just fooling me now!”

“No.”

“But Dororo thought that too!”

“Why?..” Hyakkimaru wrinkles his forehead, his confused face so endearingly stupid.

…Only it’s Tahomaru who feels like a stupid boy who loves theatrical plays about heroes and tragical deaths a little too much. Was he being overdramatic, misinterpreting his brother’s intention? Maybe they really could just up and leave right then, without Tahomaru crying all over his brother’s face and him caressing his scar and kissing his tears off his cheek?

Or maybe Hyakkimaru is just playing dumb now.

Oh, the hell with him!.. Tahomaru turns on his heels and stomps indignantly into the cave.

 

* * *

His face ceases to burn once the night thickens anew over the mountains, bringing back the chillness of the heights. They light up a small fire inside the cave, entrusting the gusty wind with dispersing whatever faint smoke escapes it, and its soft orange glow makes their temporary shelter warm and cozy at once. Dororo, warning not to disturb her as she’s going to think over the strategies of spending her dad’s treasure the wisest way possible, settles in the far corner; she seems very concentrated, mumbling and doodling with the coal on the floor the schemes of the future prosperity.

“I’ll keep watch tonight,” Tahomaru says, checking his katana blade, “in case we’ll get another ghoul paying us a visit. You go and rest.”

Hyakkimaru sits down beside him and lays his hand on his forearm.

“No need. I can see it when I sleep. If the ghoul approaches, I notice and wake up.”

He gently pushes Tahomaru’s sword back in the scabbard and puts it aside.

Tahomaru looks up at him, feeling stupid little brother once again. He can’t help remembering how warm it felt being touched like that, looked like that by his brother. Hyakkimaru keeps watching him, his hand still placed on his, and the sensation is suddenly, overwhelmingly back.

“I’ve been wondering…” Tahomaru murmurs, “how do you discern that we are related? What exactly it is you see? When you look at me, I mean.”

“A white… light?” Hyakkimaru carefully chooses the words. “Beautiful patterns. Moving… curling… glowing. Beautiful. Closely — even more beautiful.”  

Tahomaru’s face flares up and he can only guess if his aura betrays that to his brother.

“I want to feel,” Hyakkimaru says out of the blue and then touches his cheek with his fingertips.

Tahomaru gulps.

“But your hands…”

“…can’t feel,” Hyakkimaru finishes. “But we’ll kill the demons. I will return them.”

“You can still touch me… you know… like then, on the shore,” his words are hoarse, barely audible, muffled by the pumping of his own blood, but Hyakkimaru must have heard them.

…Because his lips are back on his face, right where Tahomaru wants them. They press gently to his wounded skin, to his forehead, to the eyelid of his other eye, where he feels them slightly curl at the trembling of his eyelashes — this must tickle… Next, they follow down his cheek and jaw to the cuts on his neck — not too deep, paper-thin, but still itchy and tingly and, _oh, hell,_ now… it’s really _tingling_.

“ _Aniue_ ,” he chokes on his breath, placing his hands on Hyakkimaru’s nape to hold onto something.

And it is then that his brother’s lips cover his mouth as if wanting to catch and feel the sound too.

Somewhere on the background Dororo jolts, muttering something about fire, and runs out.

…Hyakkimaru tastes him carefully, gently caressing his lips with his lips, then his tongue, curiously diving deeper in, and Tahomaru melts in his artificial arms. Something burns in him, and he knows what it is… but Hyakkimaru, apparently, not. Question is written on his face, his cheeks flushed deep red, as he pulls away just a little.

“You are—” he gapes, dumbfounded.

“What?”

“ _Glowing_ ”.

“You too, idiot,” Tahomaru mutters, feeling the heat spread from his cheeks to the tips of his toes.

“What is this? I feel… strange.”

 For once Tahomaru feels like _he_ is older.

“You haven’t had it? Never?”

“No. It’s… like…”

“No need to describe, I’m perfectly aware,” Tahomaru interrupts him. His head feels light and the blood rushes through his body just like when they were fighting. They are still inches apart, his hands on his brother’s nape, Hyakkimaru’s palms placed on his waist, and he doesn’t need to look to understand.

“You know it?” Hyakkimaru asks somewhat dubiously.

“Of course I do! It’s perfectly normal. Hyogo explained it to me when it started and brought me to the concubines, who then taught me all about it,” he says proudly like a boy of his age would.

…There was that girl he especially liked. She was young and somewhat willful but always softened around him, and he wanted to give to her, not only take. Tahomaru even wrote a couple of haiku for her. He never visited her the last month, though.

“Teach me too.”

“What?” he chokes and jolts back. “I— I can't, what am I, a concubine?!”

“Where we find concubines?” Hyakkimaru inquires.

“Nowhere, of course, since we're not even within the borders of our land…”

“Concubines are only in your land?”

Tahomaru palms his face:

“You don't know who they are, do you?”

“Who?”

“It’s women, you stupid. Do you understand now? Have you ever felt something for a woman? Well, I guess you haven't since you couldn't even feel anything...”

“Yes. I felt.”

“You... Really?”

“Mio,” Hyakkimaru says shortly, yet stumbles on the word.

“That's her name? Is she beautiful? Where is she?”

If the sun could darken and cool off without even hiding behind the clouds, this would be the perfect description of Hyakkimaru’s face shut down.

“She is… no more.”

“How?! Why?!”

“Killed by Daigo samurai.”

Tahomaru feels something painfully twitch in his chest as he drops his hands down.

He remembers the scene on the battlefield. That fat soldier in his father’s army who cried in terror and wet his pants as Hyakkimaru yelled and roared like a wild beast, ready to kill everyone who stands in his way. Dororo was the one to hold him back that time too…

Maybe she shouldn’t have.

“Sorry…” is the only thing Tahomaru can master.

Then he gets up and stumbles out into the cold night.

 

* * *

Dororo is there, sitting by a small fire and warming her little palms. She looks so cold and fragile in her rags that Tahomaru can’t even think of scolding her for the fire. He just shrugs off his jacket and puts it around her shoulders.

“The firewood is dry. I’ll make sure there won’t be any smoke,” she explains apologetically, avoiding looking at him.

“Don’t wander off all alone in the night!” Tahomaru reproves, knitting his eyebrows, and instantly gains her rebellious spirit back:

“Well I don't wanna sit there while you two are _kissing!_ ” 

“We weren't kissing!” he denies passionately. Then sits down beside her and rubs his burning face: “He just wants to feel everything. Such a weirdo…”

“But you enjoy it, don't you,” Dororo winks. “Being with aniki, I mean. Being alone sucks so much. Having a bro is so cool, right?” she asks enthusiastically like she just had him taste her favorite manju.

“It is!” Tahomaru shares her excitement entirely. “But… will he ever be able to forgive me? My father and I… we caused him so much pain.”

“Well, I can’t deny about your father, but you failed to do much harm, so stop being angsty.”

“Tell me about Mio.”

He sees a shiver shake up her body at his words.

She wraps his jacket tighter around her body, takes a long deep breath, and begins the last untold story of the demon who had Hyakkimaru’s voice but traded it for his right leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm so now I'm facing a dilemma: to let this AU further deviate from the ongoing anime, which means inventing my own monsters and circumstances (since I haven't read the manga), or to follow the anime arcs to some extent but remake it into "what if they were three in this"-AU (which leaves out the ep19 ark since Hyakki didn't need to repair his sword here)? What do you guys think, what would be more interesting?  
> I still have some original twists in mind, though, because i don't trust the anime to fix the mess it has dragged them into, so i'm only speaking about the background.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three come across the rumors of another monster as they continue their journey. In the meantime, something odd is going on with Tahomaru's eyesight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This anime is pain. From the preview it seems we're getting another Hyakki x Taho fight this monday and i really can't handle it anymore T_T Ep. 20 almost gave me a heart attack (apart from Tahomaru being so sweet and caring, this is what i live for and this is what makes me fear for my boy sfm T_T) 
> 
> Well, i decided not to stick with the anime plot, so this is mostly original stuff although some parallels are included.  
> Some themes in this chapter may seem disturbing so let me gently remind you that this is the medieval Japan we are talking about ^^ Also, i added some things that were never mentioned in the anime, but i assumed they would make sense as very common in that time period (like, daimyo having only 1 son is weird, there should have been more, though not from official wife; Oda Nobunaga, for one, had 12 (!) sons and about as much daughters from his concubines).  
> The perspective will switch several times in this one, but i hope it's not too confusing.

His unruly hair is soft but thicker than Hyakkimaru’s own. Though, his prosthetic fingers aside, he can only perceive his own hair with his cheeks, shoulders and forehead skin. A rough estimation. Hair is such a complicated thing: looks hazy and vague as a flame but so defined and detailed to the touch. It's also very smooth and fluffy. Hyakkimaru’s lips and nose feel awesome burying into it.

His skin is no less exciting. It is warm and soft and has this faint comforting smell that makes Hyakkimaru want to draw it in deeper. It also has more details than the flame would reflect: some spots are silky, and some are velvety, some traversed by the thin lines of scars, and some are hot, slightly pulsing above the veins. Hyakkimaru regained his senses quite a time ago, but it’s only now that he got the chance to actually _sense_ the curious body textures. For whatever reason, the idea of using his lips never occurred to him earlier. Maybe because this is his brother?

He could have cut this skin a couple of days ago, and it would be no longer warm. There would be no more hot pulsing underneath. No more soft, gentle breathing. No more flame glowing steadily. _No more…_ His breath hitches at the thought.

Hyakkimaru remembers being drawn to that familiar flame, to that voice, strong and young and confident, but with certain melodic softness in it. He remembers the days after the Banmon battle, the hurt in his chest and the voices that haunted him: his mother’s desperate outcry, his father’s hostility and his brother's confusing words. Tahomaru didn't want to fight him yet he did. He said what their father had done wasn't a right thing, but he called Hyakkimaru a _demon_ the very next second. Why? Why did they hate him so much?

Those familiar flames were something he strove to reach, to touch, irresistibly drawn to them. Yet he couldn't have them. They were enemies. They weren't drawn to _him_. They wanted him not to exist.

_“You, who threatens the peace of this land, are a demon to us now!”_

Hyakkimaru could not see it back then, shocked, confused. He discerned it only on the cape: the pain that his little brother was bearing within, his flame flickering madly like it could fade away any moment and never light up again, and it was so beautiful and fragile that Hyakkimaru felt the urge to protect it, enemy or not.

_His little brother._

And there was no red: Tahomaru wasn't really hating him. But he wanted to kill Hyakkimaru. He _did_. How could anyone want to kill anybody without really hating them? Hyakkimaru _hated_ the demons and ghouls. He _hated_ those samurai who killed Mio and the children. He might have hated Tahomaru too that minute, fighting him on the shore, because Tahomaru tried to kill him. And yet Tahomaru wasn't hating him. Despite all his hostile words.

His soul was not stained. Clear, beautiful light.

Just like it is now, this very moment.

…But not like yesterday. Yesterday, something went wrong. Hyakkimaru doesn’t know why the menacing glimmering red appeared all over his brother’s soul, as his sword sliced the ghoul he shouldn’t even have _seen_ with mad rapidity and precision. He doesn’t know why the remnants of the red stayed there for the rest of the day. All Hyakkimaru _does_ know is that he hated to see it.

He never wants to see it again. To see his brother become like _him_.

And as much as he wants to wake him up now, to hear his voice and to feel his touch again, Hyakkimaru is wavering, afraid to disturb this beautiful, steady flame.

 

* * *

Tahomaru wakes up into the already familiar dream. He is warm, wrapped in soft glimmering light that’s constantly shifting, its translucent shapes weaving together in beautiful patterns as some are fading away and some flare up — an endless boiling of life. The strokes of crimson, as if caught in the shiny net, glint among them like threads of rain that is permanently falling upside down; rain that is slowly abating until it’s but a mist of tiny ruby sparkles still filling the air. The white light begins to grow then, pearly shapes merging together into shiny veils, and along with it comes the warmth and the sweetness of physical touch.

They are together in this world of light and darkness, and he _knows_ now what Hyakkimaru tried to describe with his limited vocabulary, only Tahomaru himself wouldn’t find the words any better.

_Beautiful._

The glowing shape of his brother fills his vision as Tahomaru feels him gently press their lips together. The slight quiver runs through his body and washes the haziness of sleep away. Tahomaru leans into the kiss, his fingers brushing against the warm skin of Hyakkimaru’s thigh. He relishes in the way the glowing intensifies, almost overshining the red sparks though never really extinguishing them.

“Ta…ho…” Hyakkimaru whispers, words breathy against Tahomaru’s lips, sending shivers down his body. Tahomaru can’t be bothered to complain about proper namings right now.

He slowly pulls away and opens his eye. For a moment, two worlds are overlapping before his vision as if it’s his missing eye that is perceiving the images of auratic light. The next second, they quickly fade away until all he’s seeing is Hyakkimaru’s dazed face: his eyes closed, lips parted and wet, hair spread about his head like starry night spilling from the sky.

_No less beautiful._

The warm light of the morning seeps through the narrow entrance, illuminating the stone walls with dim gold, and Dororo is nowhere to be seen, probably hunting down something to eat or just playing outside.

“Again,” Hyakkimaru demands, his hand gripping Tahomaru’s arm to prevent him from getting up. “I want to feel it again. Your fingers. There.”

Tahomaru chuckles at his brother’s adorable desperation, butterflies going crazy in his chest. “Here?” He places his hand under the knee of Hyakkimaru’s injured leg, feeling a hot vein pulsing under the soft skin. Just a few days ago there was a wooden stick, and now it is all warm flesh with bundles of nerves, smooth and untouched except for the mark of his katana blade that will stay forever. Just like his own scar… If it was the price for being with his brother, he is good with it. Tahomaru runs his palm along the underside of the older boy’s thigh, feeling him slightly shiver and press closer. “Does it feel good?” he asks as his fingers slide above the bandage and further up to the hipbone under the kimono.

“Yes... More.” 

Tahomaru feels _good_ too, caressing his brother like that, sharing these intimate moments of the peaceful morning like there is no evil, no demons and no doom hanging upon his land. He presses his face to the side of Hyakkimaru’s neck, lips finding the sweet spot below his earlobe, and gains a soft moan. Thousands of goosebumps are popping up under his fingertips as Tahomaru continues to gently trace the contours of the warm body. He feels his brother softly breathing into his hair. It feels awesome.

“Sorry for saying those words… about your legs and everything,” Tahomaru murmurs. “You just want to live in this world, really _live_ and not only function.”

“Yes…” the soft, warm exhale.

“It must feel like a miracle every time. Being born like that, little by little…”

“It is… painful.”

“Yeah… life is painful.”

“But it’s a miracle.”

Tahomaru’s breath hitches against Hyakkimaru’s neck as the meaning of the words _truly_ sinks in. His brother could never _feel_ the softness of a mother’s caress nor the solidness of father’s hands on his shoulders. He didn’t experience the harsh wind blowing in his face as he would run across the meadow with a paper kite in his hands, nor did he feel the warm palms of the sun touching his cheeks on the summer day. He knew not the pleasure of being loved by a woman, and the only time he held her she was dead. The food had no taste for him. The pain wasn’t painful. The world was but a hollowness filled with random lights where the red ones should be eliminated. Nothing more.

“ _Aniue_ ,” Tahomaru whispers as he runs featherlight kisses down Hyakkimaru’s neck to his collarbone. He wants his brother to _feel everything_ now, wants so bad he can’t help himself. Digs his fingers in deeper. Suckles on the pale skin until it’s flaming red underneath his caress. Swipes his tongue over it, over the mark different from the first one that he has left on his brother’s body. And Hyakkimaru _arches_ into him, hard and yearning — _what_ he has no idea for. “ _Aniue…_ Let me make you feel good.”

Tahomaru takes a stuttered gasp escaping his brother’s mouth as a “yes”.

He untangles himself from Hyakkimaru’s arms and rises above him, his voice collected but his mind is nothing of the sort. “You have to be quiet,” he commands, “so that Dororo doesn’t hear anything if she’s around.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s still a child. Children shouldn’t know about it. Now, you stop thinking, let go of everything. Concentrate on what you feel.”

Tahomaru hears his own heart pumping madly in his chest as he places his hand on Hyakkimaru’s groin. He knows that boys often explore it together, but he never did it with a boy, there was no need. As a young lord, apart from the concubines, he has always been surrounded by housemaids helping him to dress and undress and doing other routine duties; they were also to provide him more intimate attention if he desired. Should he now treat his brother like women used to treat him? Is he even capable of delivering the same pleasure, his hands that of a swordsman, not a maid from the inner chambers?

Tahomaru’s fingers are slightly trembling as he drags them above the worn-out fabric of Hyakkimaru’s kimono, causing the older boy to buck up to his touch. His eyes are wide. His hands are reaching to grapple with Tahomaru’s arms. “It’s alright,” Tahomaru hushes as he straddles his brother and pins his arms down to hold him in place. _Like back then, on the shore._ Now, Tahomaru is concentrated more on controlling himself rather than thinking over his every move. The sight of his brother sprawled beneath him, his cheeks painted with blush, his delicate features strained nervously with unknown pleasure, black hair lying haphazardly against his forehead, is having the same effect on his arousal as skillful caresses would.

“Lay still,” Tahomaru orders, his voice catching. His body throbs and pulses with his heartbeat. He slides his hand underneath the layers of fabric, his fingertips finally touching the hot, silky flesh of the hardened member. _So hard._ Tahomaru strokes it gently, brushing the pad of his thumb over the wet head, and Hyakkimaru _gapes_ ,  inhaling sharp and deep.  

Tahomaru barely manages to shut him with his lips until a loud moan could escape because his brother obviously forgot about his warning all at once. He swallows the sound spilling from Hyakkimaru’s mouth, a low trembling note muffled by the kiss, and it _burns_ him to just think about how it must feel for his brother now, this first in his life sensation of a caress at the very center of his senses; _burns_ to hear him make these sweet little sounds into his mouth, burns hotter than hell…

It burns down there, too, where they are pressed together now. They kiss frantically, both gasping, grinding, all technics of the art of pleasure completely forgotten.

Tahomaru who intended to overwhelm is overwhelmed himself; he never knew _this_ can exist. This raw, uncontrollable longing to just _be_ together, _meld_ together, _feel_ the other’s body with every inch of his own. Hyakkimaru’s wooden fingers dig painfully deep in his back as if he desperately wants to _sense_ something, but then he gives up and flips them around with a sudden force. And this is something else. Every sensation feels new for Tahomaru too. He is on his back, pinned to the ground, as Hyakkimaru sucks and bites chaotically at his exposed neck and shoulders, no longer exploring but devouring. It feels incredible. Tahomaru doesn’t want to object. His brother’s instincts are taking over where his knowledge is lacking, and maybe not only instincts but feelings, too.

Tahomaru hasn’t even registered himself undoing their belts, but here they are, pressed completely now, hot skin to hot skin, and he wants his release it’s almost unbearable. His eye is shut, and again he sees the ethereal light, burst of suns blinding his vision. But his brother’s solid weight is here to hold him to reality. Those hard artificial palms leave bruised marks on his body, and the pain is almost indistinguishable from the pleasure at the moment, but however incredible it felt, perhaps he still has to guide him. “ _Aniue_ … let me.”

Tahomaru manages to slide his hand back there, where they are rubbing fervently, so strained and so _close_. He slides his fingers over the wetness and strokes softly, then firm and hard, then again, and they’re gone.

…They are catching their breath long enough, tangled together, sticky and messy, his brother’s body still half-covering his own. After that, there is more kissing, slow and gentle now, tongues playing and tantalizing as they learn to feel each other. And only then Tahomaru recovers his voice to ask: “Did it feel good?”

“It felt…” Hyakkimaru pauses, searching for words. “Better than anything. Can we do it again?”

Tahomaru laughs, allowing himself to feel a clear, complete joy. “Yes, we can,” he says as he weaves his fingers in his brother’s soft, disheveled hair. Hyakkimaru leans into his touch like a purring cat. “There is so much more we can do… But later. You’ll have to learn to control your desires. Now, we must arrange ourselves. Dororo was absent for a long time and surely will be back soon.”

“Why children must not know about it?” Hyakkimaru asks.

Tahomaru feels uncomfortable as he struggles to explain the obvious. “Well… children cannot enjoy the way of love until they reached a proper age. Besides, she is deeply traumatized by... things she saw on her way.”

“What things?”

Last night, Dororo told Tahomaru about Mio; but he knows that she has never told _Hyakkimaru_ what she saw that one night in the Daigo army camp.

He replies vaguely, “She's seen plenty of ugly things while she was on her own.”

“Ugly?” Hyakkimaru seems confused.

“Sometimes it gets ugly. The way of love is for sharing together with the one who wishes it,” Tahomaru tries to explain. He really has a lot to teach him… “Don't you feel a sense of shame at the thought that someone witnesses you like this?”

“What is a shame?”

“It is when you feel bad about a certain thing though it may be not bad by itself. Every child has it. Sometimes, there are arranged marriages for political purposes when the wife can be even a toddler, but it doesn’t mean that it is right to do this thing with a child. Once she comes of age, you can take her as your wife, of course… But not before.”

“A wife?”

And then he has to explain what marriage is…

“Why Dororo?” Hyakkimaru asks after that. “I want to do it with you. Can I marry you?”

“Of course not!” Tahomaru laughs, amused but warm to the tips of his hair. “First, neither of us is a woman. Second, we are brothers and there can't be a bond deeper than that. We don’t need to marry to keep it.”

And Hyakkimaru searches for words again, but perhaps can’t find any, so he gives up and just kisses him instead.

 

* * *

Dororo is not by the cave when they leave it; she is not by the stream either. Hyakkimaru instantly loses his composure:

“Dororo!”

“Calm down,” Tahomaru grips his shoulder. “Look carefully: if she’s there, you must see her soul behind the trees. If she isn’t, we’ll go search.”

Hyakkimaru looks around and down the slope for a while, his face alarmed, his lips pressed tightly, but shakes his head eventually. There is no sign of a living soul, except those of animals.

They shout but hear no answer. Dororo is not there unless she plays some stupid hide-and-seek with them.

“Let’s go,” Tahomaru commands, mentally cursing his own recklessness. He tucks his swords behind his sash. “We must search on the other side of the mountain.”

They follow around the steep slopes, making their way through the dense jungle, as the sun rises behind them and eventually gets hidden by the mountain. The northern side is dusky, still laying in deep shadows, and the woods are completely quiet. There is no path, no visible footprints on the mossy ground among the brush and rocks, and the farther they go, the quieter it gets until the only sound left is their heavy breathing. The air is thick and damp, almost palpable, but there is no mist. No bird is singing, and no leaf is rustling.

“Do you see anything?” Tahomaru asks.

“Nothing.” There is a strain in his brother’s voice that matches his own uneasiness.

“Something’s off. Beware of ambush.”

They grip their swords simultaneously, noticing a movement ahead. Tahomaru registers a white glowing shape before something knocks him hard on the head. As the world goes dark before his eye, he catches a familiar green and brownish silhouette that jumps from behind the rock.

“Dororo—” Hyakkimaru’s voice gets swallowed by the blackness too.

 

* * *

“I said I am _sorry_ so stop sending me glares already. Here, press it to your head and it will be back to normal in a second,” Dororo hands him some leaf children use to heal their scratches with, muttering something about how Tahomaru’s “normal” isn’t really that normal anyway. “I said I thought you were ghouls, okay?! This wood is creepy enough already, and you were sneaking there like some creeps in the shadows without even making a sound!”

Tahomaru’s head is aching ferociously, his hair is sticky with blood under his fingers, but at least he is conscious, and the world is slowly ceasing to spin around.

“You didn’t hear anything either?” Hyakkimaru asks her.

“I said I didn’t, okay!”

Tahomaru shoots her an incredulous look. This beast of a girl totally aimed to kill him just now, and if her slightly reddish eyes are something to judge from, he can even guess why.

“I go for water,” Hyakkimaru holds up their almost empty flasks. “Need to wash your wound.”

There is a brook nearby: they can see the water running fresh and clear among the black stones, but no sound is heard.

“ _Aniki_ , be careful!” Dororo shouts, and although Hyakkimaru is only a few feet away, he doesn’t seem to recognize her words. “ _Aniki_ —”

“No point,” Tahomaru says, “he can’t hear us. There is obviously some weird spell in this wood. We must leave fast.”

“Oh, how clever you are,” Dororo says acidly as she sits down beside him on the fluffy mossy mat, both following Hyakkimaru’s every move as he crouches by the water to fill the flasks. “I wouldn’t have guessed myself.”

Tahomaru lets out a sigh and asks, “Have you... seen something this morning?”

“Eh?” she seems confused as she turns to look at him but may as well be faking it. “Why, were you kissing again?”

Tahomaru frowns, his face stern, “You shouldn’t be jealous. I am his brother, so—”

“I am his brother too!” Dororo snaps, her fists clenched. Ah, he knew it. That stone to his head was not an accident.

“No. First, you are his _sister_. Second, you’re—”

“Wait. You know that?” there is a deep blush on her cheeks. “Did he tell you?”

“No. I figured it myself, on the cape.”

“How?! Up to this moment, no one could tell unless they…” she trails off and looks down.

“Maybe,” Tahomaru shrugs. “But you grow. Your true nature begins to show when you let your guard down. And back then, when you tried to protect him, you couldn’t care less about appearances.”

“I’m not pretending! It’s how I was raised.”

“But it’s obviously not who you _feel_ yourself to be.”

“So… what of it?” she crosses her hands, giving him a glare. “Whatever. Are you implying that I’m jealous because I’m… well… a girl?! Like hell would I want to do that filthy adult stuff! Do whatever you want, I couldn’t care less! At least it’s better than you trying to kill each other.”

“So much better that you wanted to kill me _now_ while you refused to fight me on the cape when we _really_ were trying to kill each other?” he raises his brow in amusement.

“Well, sorry,” she grumbles. “But if I meant to kill you, you would’ve been dead already. I’m good with stones.”

“I can tell,” Tahomaru tries to wipe the blood trickling down his forehead with the leaf she gave him, but only smears it over his face. Should he not have dodged, noticing her glowing shape behind the rock, his left eye might have been missing now, too.

Dororo seems quite apologetic as she sniffs for a while beside his shoulder. She says finally, “It’s not that I hate you, just… lately, _aniki_ is all head over heels with you. I think he doesn’t need me anymore.”

“You are mistaken. You should have seen him freak out when you disappeared.”

“He did?”

“Totally.”

“Well I kinda hoped he would,” she says with sharp glints in her eyes.

“So, you really did leave out of spite.”

“No!” Dororo protests. “I just… walked. And walked. And then it was already pretty far so I figured I might as well do some scouting. And I actually found something! I was already on my way back to tell you when you appeared out of nowhere.”

Tahomaru looks at her slightly puffed eyes, thinking of how lonely she must have felt while walking away from them through these creepy woods, thinking that her place beside her _aniki_ is taken away from her. Tahomaru never had a younger sibling, apart from his father’s children from the concubines who sometimes were allowed to play with him and whom he sort of, well, despised, so he never really knew this odd desire to guard and look after someone which troubles him now. But however troublesome, it’s not unpleasant.

“Don’t do this anymore,” he says softly.

“Dororo,” Hyakkimaru’s voice makes them both jolt as they didn’t even hear him approaching. He bends down and gives her a handful of forest berries. “There was only that much,” he says apologetically, but Tahomaru isn’t offended.

Dororo’s eyes get teary as she takes the berries from his hands. There is a soft smile on Hyakkimaru’s face.

 

* * *

“So, I went to the other side of the mountain,” Dororo begins her report while Hyakkimaru tries to treat the wound on his brother’s head; he can’t really see it with his vision, though, so Dororo sighs and takes over, having to fix her own doing. She continues: “And there was an old man walking on the road that leads down to the valley. He said he was going from the mountain shrine high above, where the waterfalls are. There is a monastery nearby, too. He said that the monks there are skillful in martial arts and can even move large stones with no hands and live without eating or drinking. Cool, right? But it’s not the point. Guess what?! He told me to be careful since there’s a _monster_ sneaking around these mountains who steals and eats children!” she exclaims excitedly. “ _Aniki_!”

“Let’s go.”

“Well, but not before you are—”

“I am alright. The leg doesn’t hurt.”

“You are impossible,” Dororo sighs, “I’m fed up with this. Taho, tell him…”

“We’re going to that road,” Tahomaru says, rising to his feet. The world is still shaky before his eye, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. “We took all our stuff with us when we left so there’s no need to go back to the cave.”

“What?!”

He sighs irritatedly; yet again he has to explain his decisions… “Brother’s leg heals really fast; besides, we were careless to burn the fires last night, and we do not know who else, apart from the night birds and animals, could have seen the light. We can’t stay there any longer. Is this clear enough?” he raises his eyebrow.

“Well… you have the point,” she grunts. “But we should be careful. That ghoul sounds like a proper demon, and if that’s its spell all around here, it must be quite tough.”

“We’re together now,” Tahomaru shrugs, “we can deal with it.”

“Yeah, both injured and stupidly overconfident,” Dororo continues to grumble but doesn’t object anymore.

They leave without further talks as no one wants to stay in this eerie place any longer.

“…Hmm, those monks sound really shady, though,” Dororo ponders as they walk through the enchanted stillness of the mountain forest. “Betcha they have something to do with that demon! Maybe they’re siding with it, like that Sabame, or even… oh! What if the monks _are_ the demon?!”

“They all?” Tahomaru scoffs.

“I mean that the monastery is an illusion and in truth, it is the demon’s den, you _aho!_ ”

“Doesn’t matter,” Hyakkimaru cuts in, grim coldness in his voice. His gaze is focused on something far. “I’ll kill it and return what’s mine.”

This is the first time Tahomaru sees his brother this determined, this centered. If he closes his eye, maybe he will see his soul burning red.

Tahomaru keeps his eye fixed in front of him.

Soon, they see the road ahead: it winds along the mountain gorge below the slope on which they are standing, steep rise on one side, steep drop-off on the other. Down there, the river is roaring like a thousand beasts, the narrow rocky bed overflowed with clear, rippling, blue water.

“The sound!” Hyakkimaru exclaims.

Tahoumaru hushes, “It means we can be heard now, too.”

“By whom?” Dororo jumps, trying to look out above the bushes. Hyakkimaru lifts her up a little.

What they see is a small squad of samurais walking on their feet, leading their horses up the steep road. There’s a group of children among them, all skinny and clad in tatters.

“What the…” Tahomaru furrows.

At the same moment, three more samurais appear out of the woods, making the squad halt.

“How many?” the tallest and the most equipped one of the three asks without any greeting. Now, Tahomaru notices their worn-out clothes and unshaved heads; their movements are too lazy and loose for proper samurais.

“Five girls and four boys, captain,” a man from the squad replies. “Not much, but we carefully chose the healthiest ones.”

“ _Ronins_ ,” Tahomaru hisses, gritting his teeth. His hand clutches the hilt of his sword.

“Take the girls to the camp,” the captain orders. “The girls only! The boys are for the monks, they will pay a load for them. I heard they love boys!” There is a burst of filthy laughter, and dirty remarks from the others.

Tahomaru steps forward, every ounce of blood rushing to his head. He can feel Hyakkimaru mirroring his move right behind him.

“Dororo, stay here,” Hyakkimaru says and rushes after his brother down the steep descent. “What they took them for?” he asks as he catches up. “Is it about… what you told me this morning?”

“It is,” Tahomaru answers through his teeth. The blood throbs in his head. Dororo was right — the “demon” turned out to be those foul monks and ronin scum trading children to them! Children who are barely as old as ten, and there are even few who look no older than five!

They jump down on the road, making the ronins flinch and tighten into a battle array in a second, their swords and other weapon raised, poised for action. A loose rogue life hasn’t completely erased their samurai habits, it seems.

“Release these children!” Tahomaru, cold metal in his voice, shouts and bares his sword.

“Who are you and why should we listen to you?” the captain looks down his nose at him, his hand placed lazily on the hilt of his sword. He is obviously too sure that he can pull it out and cut the opponent in a fraction of a second. Tahomaru’s eye flashes with scorn.

“You dare to speak with the sons of the Great Lord of Ishikawa, Daigo Hyakkimaru and Daigo Tahomaru!” he announces. “On your knees, rat!”

The ronins who were all bold and sneer just a minute ago lose the attitude in a second, despite having strength in numbers. The young man before them isn’t feigning, his manners those of a highborn, his speech impeccable, his voice commanding, and his face fearless like there is an army of samurais all around that forest. And maybe there is! Of course, there is, since no lord would travel without his samurais! The ronins drop to their knees, perfectly aware of the fate that awaits them in case they draw a lord’s wrath.

“My deepest apologies, my lord,” the leader stutters, pressing his forehead to the ground.

“Where did you steal those children from? Answer!”

“A village down the road, in the valley, my lord,” the leader says, choking on the words, “but we didn’t steal them, my lord, we properly paid for them and—”

“You dare to speak up?” Tahomaru narrows his eye, looking down at the trembling man and seeing only a red flame. It is dark and twisted, unlike the red glow of the sunset or clear crimson of the autumn leaves. It disgusts his vision. The red on the black — no demons can compare with the ugliness of human nature! “The valley down the road is a part of the Daigo domain. You will pay for harming my people!” he says as he raises his sword.

“My lord, please spare me!” the man is a blabbering mess; the other ronins press their foreheads to the ground even harder. “We properly paid for them… we didn’t steal… please, my lord… we only tried to survive—”

“It matters not!” Tahomaru cuts. “If you want to survive, then trash your swords and live as peasants! Samurai should be ready to die. Those like you are but a worthless rot contaminating this land!”

His katana blazes, harsh and short, and there is a head rolling on the ground.

Dororo, her eyes huge, shuts her mouth with her hands to suppress a scream.

The other ronins bump their heads into the ground, weeping for mercy, but Tahomaru stiffens by himself. He doesn't hear them. He looks at the glowing shape by his feet, its greyish light quickly, irrevocably fading away to never shine again. Other than that, there is darkness all around him. The other dim shapes are beginning to crawl away. They are no longer red. Or were they?

“Tahomaru,” he hears from behind and feels his brother’s arms clench tightly around his shoulders. “No. Don’t. Please, don’t,” there is an edge in his voice, his words hot against Tahomaru’s nape. “Stop.”

His katana slips from his hand and hits the ground with a thud.

Tahomaru’s ordinary vision is slowly back. His eye catches the backs of the fleeing ronins among the trees. There is a body at his feet, and a large pool of blood that is slowly soaking into the ground. The head is laying a few feet away, a grimace of pain on the stiffened white face. Suppressing the wave of nausea, Tahomaru turns around. The children are huddling together on the roadside. Unlike Dororo, they don’t seem scared; they are _relieved_ , some of them even smiling.

“I did what I must,” Tahomaru says, picking up his katana from the ground along with a handful of soil. With it, he wipes the blood from the blade and slides it back in the scabbard. He doesn’t look at his brother, nor at Dororo. “Take the horses. You, there! We will bring you back to your parents.”

 

* * *

Once the dusk falls, they take a rest in an old shrine above the road. The short walkway paved with huge flat stones leads up the woody slope; there, in the dense shadows of the tsuga forest, they see an old _torii_ gate. Two stony frogs by its sides, cracked and covered with moss, watch them pass with blind bulging eyes. Travelers probably pray here for the safe return from the mountains, but the place looks completely abandoned now.

Dororo takes upon herself to manage the children while the brothers go on a hunt. Without bows, it is a troublesome task, but the forest here is full of birds and animals so it doesn’t take them long to get enough meat for everyone. They burn a bonfire on the small yard, the huge figures of the trees around them rising dark against the deep twilight sky. Dororo tells stories about slaying ghouls. The children are happy.

They fall asleep one by one inside the small hall of the shrine as the night falls upon the mountains, quick and dark like a silky cover tossed from the sky.

Dororo flinches yet again and gives up on trying to make herself to sleep. She sits up. It’s no use. When she closes her eyes, she keeps seeing flying heads and blood spurting out like crimson waves; the short, thick sound of the blade cutting through the flesh never really leaves her ears. Aah, and there she thought she had seen everything…

Taho can be such a boy, she wonders, and then he can turn so scary at times. He was freaking scary on the cape, coming at them with a fierce look in his only eye, clad in all those dreadful samurai armour (that heavy winged jacket felt quite soft around her shoulders, though…) But today, he was beyond scary. There was a cold in his voice, a cold that flushed through Dororo’s bones and stuck there. A cold that is still sitting somewhere inside her. It’s a good thing they’ve saved all these children, of course, just… How can anyone be so cold?

When she steps outside, there is a soft wind whispering through the trees. Or maybe it is the sound of the mountains breathing? The silence is complete, yet alive, unlike the dead stillness of that enchanted forest. The brothers sit by the faintly smoldering embers, across the fire from each other. No one speaks. Dororo gulps, looking at their stiffened silhouettes, and thinks that once they move, they’d better be kissing than—

“Dororo,” Hyakkimaru notices her. Tahomaru, his back against the glimmering light, flinches but doesn’t turn around.

“ _Aniki_ … Can I sit with you for a while? I’m sorry I can’t sleep.”

“Of course,” Hyakkimaru nods with a little smile.

A smile pulls at Dororo’s lips, too, and the warmth fills her insides, washing the cold away. He acts so _human_ ever since their reunion that it still takes her aback. He speaks, smiles, even jokes sometimes. Used to watch over him, Dororo didn’t even notice at once that now, Hyakkimaru watches over her too. The berries he got for her were so sweet she wanted to cry.

She skirts round the remnants of the fire and flops down by his side. Ah, she is completely warm and cozy now. This is the place she wants to stay forever.

Taho still doesn’t look at her as he reaches with a stick to stir up the dying embers. The glow grows again, illuminating his face. There is a small stain of blood on his jaw that he forgot to wipe out. There is a thread of stains across his sleeve, too. But his face isn’t cold anymore. It is just tired.

Hyakkimaru shifts a little by her side and looks up. At last, he is the one to break the silence.

“When we fought on the cape, you were stronger than the first time,” he says, looking in the direction of his brother. “But you had no red in you. Now, you are even stronger. And there is red all over you. Did you make a deal with the demons?”

The shivers run down Dororo’s spine.

“W-what?!” Taho jolts and stares up at him, wide-eyed. “Of course, I did not! What you are even talking about—”

“You saw that bat ghoul in the night,” Hyakkimaru presses, his voice even. “I know that human eyes can’t see in the night.”

“You did your research well, but I told you it was a dream! Sometimes people just see those odd dreams that come true—”

“You noticed Dororo behind the rock and managed to dodge.”

“It was just a vague sensation!” Tahomaru keeps denying. “I saw you startle, and so did I.”

“You offered your soul”.

“Eh?..”

“On the shore. You said that you’re offering them your soul.”

 

* * *

…Oh, he remembers now.

_“They can take your body. Not your soul. I know.”_

_“You are right. That’s why I’m offering it myself.”_

Tahomaru remembers his brother’s words, as well as his own words, though somewhat hazy. But the darkness that overwhelmed him the same moment, knocked him out and took his breath away, _that darkness_ he remembers perfectly well.

Tahomaru’s shoulders sink as he drops his head to his arms. He thinks of the days he spent wandering around their land aimlessly, crushed by his mother’s suicide attempt, by his father’s unbreakable reasoning, by his brother’s unthinkable strength, but most of all by his own weakness. The pain and the hollowness where his right eye used to be were driving him insane, inescapable reminders of his own worthlessness. His land will die, and all because of him. What an heir is he to not be able to defend it? Regardless of how much of a selfish bastard his father might be. Regardless of how cruel and unfair it was to give the demons the life of an innocent child like it was even his father’s property to give. Regardless of other right words and feelings, regardless of everything… There was a problem. And there was a single solution.

Or… was there another?

“…I was sitting there, in the cold darkness of the Hall of Hell,” he says in the deep silence, “all those broken statues around me. Most of them were abandoned, but some were still intact. And there was one… the one that wasn’t like all the others. There was something in it I can’t describe, but it _was_ there. And I said to it: ‘Take my life but protect my land against the disasters that shall come.’ And there was no answer, only a cold laughter inside my head and the words I thought I imagined: ‘I want _his_ life. What is it in you that should make me want to trade it? Come to me when you have something better to offer.’ And it laughed, and laughed, and laughed until I ran out of there, feeling like I’m going insane.”

Tahomaru raises his head and sees his brother’s pale face. Dororo is clutching his elbow, her eyes wide.

“You know, brother, why the Twelfth failed to take your life? I think it’s because the Goddess of Mercy protected you, the one that our mother used to pray to. She sacrificied her head for yours. But now that it broke and dissappeared, and mother is no longer praying… the Twelfth is free again.”

“And you offered your soul to it,” Hyakkimaru says harshly.

“But there was no Hall of Hell! We were on the shore, and I didn’t… the deal hasn’t even been sealed…”

“It is free again. It can hear you everywhere. And you _did_ make the deal.”

“ _Aniki_ is right!” Dororo cuts in. “Don’t you get it? The deal was just postponed until you have something better to offer, and then you what? — came up with a brilliant idea: the soul is of course better than the life! And of course, the demon agreed to take it! You _aho_!”

“But why am I still alive, then?”

“It wants to eat you alive,” Hyakkimaru says. “It is eating now.”

Dororo, her voice trembling, elaborates again: “Yeah, it will eat your soul until you become worse than your father, cruel and wicked, then you’ll start more wars and the suffering will multiply — that’s how the demons like it!”

“That will never happen!” Tahomaru flares up, rising to his feet. “I’d rather kill myself! And if it’s the only way—”

“You can fight it,” Hyakkimaru, who is suddenly there, gently places his hand on Tahomaru’s shoulder, making him cool down a little. “I know. The red is not there, in you, all the time. Unlike me or… father.”

“Is it there now?” Tahomaru whispers, gulping.

His brother watches him intently for a moment, never releasing his shoulder. “It is… but not much. It’s not there at all when you’re with me.”

“What do you mean? I’m with you now—”

“Not like now. Like… when we sleep, or… like this morning.”

Tahomaru can say by the heat in his cheeks that there is a flush all over his face.

“I don’t understand it…”

“Ugh, what is there not to understand?” Dororo lets out an exasperated sigh. “Only love can hold back the demons! So, if you need to kiss or do your other stupid adult stuff for that — then fucking do it, just warn me beforehand, okay?”

Tahomaru rubs his burning face. “It can hear me anywhere, you say? Good, then listen!” he looks up in the dark starry sky and rises his voice. “Listen to me now, demon! It is over! I don’t want your help anymore! The deal is broken!”

There is silence: around him, inside him, and Tahomaru _knows_ in a second, the knowledge clear and firm in his head, that it won’t be this easy.

“Won’t work…” Dororo drops her head.

“The deal was made in the Hall of Hell,” Tahomaru slowly nods. “Perhaps this is where it can be broken. But as long as it lasts, at least my land will be protected.”

“If it lasts, you will lose your soul, idiot!” Dororo snaps. “We should hurry up to that damn Hall!”

“Through the whole Daigo land?” Tahomaru retorts.

“Well, we can sneak secretly. We’ll find the way! We should, until you turned red completely!”

“I won’t let it happen,” Hyakkimaru holds Tahomaru’s shoulder tightly. “I won’t.”

Dororo’s cheeks are glowing red as she blurts out: “Well then do it! _Don’t let_ him, I mean— well, you know what I mean! I’m off to sleep, I’m not looking, so kiss already!”

Tahomaru snickers as he watches her rush away into the shrine. He tries to suppress the laughter that emerges in him, from the depths of the hollowness, and shakes his insides with each new jolt. But then it stops abruptly.

“I saw them red.”

Hyakkimaru watches him, a deep furrow between his eyebrows.

“Completely red. Like that ghoul bat, or even a deeper shade.”

“They weren't red,” Hyakkimaru shakes his head slowly. “Just usual greyish souls. Occasional red spots. But you— you were red. Lots of stains. And… a big red spot where your eyes are.”

Tahomaru gulps. “It means… that I saw them through my own soul?”

“Yes. I know it… I did, too,” Hyakkimaru says. “Everything seemed red when they killed Mio. Everyone. But in truth, they weren’t…”

Tahomaru closes his eye, and the images of the fading silver flame by his feet come back to him at once. He knows that they will haunt him forever. No matter how evil, no matter how stained, human souls _still_ are this beautiful light.

“It means… that humans are never completely red? Never completely evil? Even when they kill children…”

Hyakkimaru nods. “Demons are pure evil. Humans… can choose.”

“I would have done it all the same,” Tahomaru says, clenching his fists. “He deserved it. The demon just made it easier for me, I suppose. But what other choice did I have? If I was wavering, they would have realized that we were alone. Then, they would've fought back, and there would’ve been even more blood spilt.”

Hyakkimaru just nods again, watching him with a soft expression on his face. Tahomaru wonders what his eyes will be like when he gets them back. What look they will send him…

“The red… Is it there now?”

“A little.”

“Erase it. Erase it from me, _aniue…_ ”

And Hyakkimaru kisses him, deep and hard.

 

* * *

The view from the wall of the Daigo castle is spectacular: the green terraced hills rise above the rich valley, its geometric pattern of fields and neat villages an epitome of order and hard work. The recent rain has filled the rice paddies and nourished the soil on the verge of drought, making people praise the Great Lord with new vigor. The rumors were apparently false: no calamity is threatening their land, and no demon children have returned from hell to kill their lord. Who would believe in these tales, anyway? Everybody knows perfectly well: the demons were defeated and locked long ago by no other than their generous Great Lord Daigo Kagemitsu.

Everyone in the Daigo land is celebrating the rain, all fears and doubts forgotten at once. Everyone except her.

Lady Nui no Kata, the wife of the Great Lord of Ishikawa, is overlooking the valley, noticing no green fields and no paddies glistening with water. Her eyes are fixed on the two horsemen galloping down the valley away from the town. She was late. She wasn’t able to get up in time, still weak from her injury, and now they are gone, their orders unknown…

The Great Lord, his face stern and unreadable, turns away to leave, paying her no attention. She fails to keep her calm.

“Why did you sent Hyogo and Mutsu away, my lord?” her voice is restrained, but only for the first few seconds; then, it begins to tremble. “What have you ordered them and why… did they return without Tahomaru? Where is my son?!”

“Calm down and go to rest. You are still weak,” he scrunches up his face without looking at her.

“My lord! Please answer!”

“Why do you care all of a sudden? You have never paid him attention. I know, it's for that sole reason he worked so hard: only to impress you, not to become a proper successor he should be. It is your fault that he grew up so mellow. I should have known better than to allow him so close to you.”

“I regret it deeply,” she bows, her voice is collected again, but there is a new strength in it. He gave her the answer without really giving it. She _knows_ now. Her son has chosen the side of his brother. “I wish I had given him more love. But if it’s because of my faults that he grew up a noble and merciful man, I regret them not.” 

Lord Daigo’s face flares up with fury but subsides and turns dull as fast as he looks at her slightly bowed head.

“You don’t understand. You never did. You think I am a monster uncapable of feeling any compassion, that’s all you see. If you were wiser you would have known that I simply can’t allow myself to feel it. We're in no position to indulge in mercy. This country is hell itself: no order, no law, no authority. It is but a wild land being torn apart by filthy animals in their lowest, primitive greed. If there is no great man rising to put an end to the feuds, this country will rot and die before any outlanders try to invade it again.”

“You believe yourself to be that great man, but you are not, my lord. It is not your fate.” She has never been the one to be afraid of speaking her mind, and now that she knows that her two sons are alive and fighting side by side, she is afraid of nothing.

But her husband doesn’t care to be offended.

“Fate is a word for the weak who try to justify their incompetence with it. The strong create their fate with their own hands.”

“But not with the hands of the demons,” she remarks.

“The demons are but a tool,” he brushes off.

“Then what are the gods, my lord?”

“The gods…” the Great Lord seems uncertain for the first time, as he touches his chin with his hand, his eyes glancing in the direction of the chamber where the headless Goddess of Mercy used to stay. “The gods are an obstacle.”

Lady Nui no Kata slowly closes her eyes, accepting the defeat. He is never going to return. A strong and ambitious, but caring and cheerful young man she fell in love with two decades ago, believing her marriage was going to be a happy one, is gone forever.

“I won’t ask you to bear me another son. I have claimed too much from you, I suppose. You can’t be a mother of an heir anymore. Probably I shall choose one of my sons from the concubines as my successor; Takeshi, for one, is capable enough and loyal.”

“As you wish, my lord. All your sons are great men.”

She bows and says no more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually, this chapter turned out huge so i divided it in 2. The next part will follow as soon as i have the time to write some details.  
> Now i'm off to celebrate my first smutty scene in English (which means hiding and dying of embarassment lol)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brothers struggle to understand each other as their objectives clash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating goes up in this one for porn ^^  
> The more suffering in the anime, the more fluffy sugary porn here, and i'm not even sorry. If one of them kills the other this Monday, i swear i'll make them die of excessive sweetness. I'm so scared and freaked out right now. God.  
> Ok, this chapter took so long to write despite the fact that i had a half of it already written, because I simply couldn't get a grip on myself after the recent episodes. None of them deserved such a fate. The amout of hate in the fandom is nauseating. But i suppose no haters would stick with this fic so it's safe and cozy here. Love and peace everyone <3  
> I'm not quite satisfied with the result, and the text probably reflects the state of my mind, it's awkward and raw since i'm in a hurry to post it before monday (i'll probably edit it later). But I tried my best.  
> (Also, isn't it funny how in the anime Taho has second vision now, too, just like here? lol coincidences happen)

Dororo said that human eyes can perceive many, many colors that blend together, forming multiple shades. People are never only white or grey, nature is never only green, and evil is never entirely red. It’s not even red at all, she said. It may be pretty much invisible. That’s why humans fail to recognize evilness more than often. Hyakkimaru wonders how he will recognize the final demon if what he regains first is his eyes. What does it even look like? What color it has? But then again, there is Taho. Taho who can see both worlds now; Taho who will always stay by his side, because he said that they are tied together with the strongest of bonds.

…Taho who gets all fuzzy and sparkly as Hyakkimaru gently drags his lips down the expanse of his neck. A moment later, he begins to shine, the tiniest red spots in him melting down completely as Hyakkimaru nuzzles lower, slides and swirls his tongue over the soft skin. He feels the hot shiver run through his little brother’s body. It resonates deep inside him. Makes his nerves buzz. Makes him so hard.

Now, Hyakkimaru knows what a caress is. He wants to feel it, but at the same time—

“I want to make you feel good, too.”

“ _Aniue…_ ”

Ah, here it is, he thinks. The most beautiful word of all. Hyakkimaru wonders if his brother can see him radiating light now, too. Or maybe he is watching him with his human vision? What does it look like when he runs kisses down Taho’s chest, circles his tiny nipple with his tongue? What shade of red is it here, underneath his lips, as he sucks on the soft spot near his collarbone? How the smooth skin of his belly glimmers, illuminated by the moonlight? Taho said there is the moon floating high above them, in the spot between the branches of this tree. It is milky-white and beginning to wane, no longer round. What is milky-white, Hyakkimaru wondered, is it different from the whiteness of the soul? Yes, it is warmer, Taho explained while they walked through the forest. A warmer shade of white. Hyakkimaru can’t sense any warmth on his skin. The moonlight is too faint and ethereal. But it must be so beautiful.

He wants to learn so much. He wants to ask and to listen. But right now, what he wants the most is to make his brother moan this tender word again, wants him to shake and spill, wants him all warm and soft over his body. He wants to make him forget about that thing that makes him so sad.

Domain or people or whatever it was...

They’re nestled among the giant roots that are covered with soft, thick moss. It feels puffy under Hyakkimaru’s knees. His palms feel nothing, pressed to the ground by Taho’s shoulders. Taho feels hot under him, hot and hard. His fingers trace burning lines on Hyakkimaru’s back. Hyakkimaru wants to dive into his shining light, dive somewhere deeper than the skin would allow, and this is so strange. All of this is so strange, and he doesn’t want the night to end. The shrine between the trees is nearly indiscernible for Hyakkimaru’s vision, but the bunch of little white souls sleeping serenely inside is what he perceives clearly. He also perceives dozens of tiny glowing souls in the air, some of them must be fireflies that Taho was describing to him with delight. For Hyakkimaru, every insect is a firefly. The night of the mountain forest is filled with sounds: crickets chirping, owls hooting, frogs croaking, small animals rustling in the foliage. The sounds of heartbeat and shaky breathing are the sweetest of all.     

There is a gentle touch of fingers on Hyakkimaru’s nape as he undoes his brother’s loincloth. They weave into his hair, brush the loose strands off his face, caress his ear, slightly trembling. Hyakkimaru feels the muscles of Taho’s belly suddenly contract and his breathing quicken. Ah, he must have brushed over it without sensing. He can perceive objects with his prosthetic hands, he can judge of their density and shape, but he can’t really _sense_. His hands aren’t soft and gentle. They aren’t even warm. He remembers the sweetest sensations of Taho’s fingers sliding up and down there, doing something incredible with his senses, and understands that he better not even try to copy that. Well, not with his hands, at least.

“Taho,” Hyakkimaru says hesitantly, rising above his brother. The heat in his own face makes him wonder what shade of red it’s dyed.

“Hm?”

“I want to taste you there.”

“ _Ani…ue,_ ” there is a gasp in Taho’s voice, and Hyakkimaru feels the warm exhale on his lips, so close to his brother’s. He can’t resist sucking on them once again. So sweet. Makes him feel so fuzzy. His head is spinning. He is trembling with his own arousal.

“I can’t? Is that bad? You don’t want?” there is so much he doesn’t know yet about this world.

“No, it’s— I’m not—” Taho stumbles on the words, endearingly timid all at once, radiating turbulently, and Hyakkimaru understands it maybe even before he exhales, “Hell, of course, _I do._ ”

His brother’s breathing gets shaky as Hyakkimaru leans in, trying to be very careful with his hands, and tentatively touches the head of his cock with his lips. Taho moans quietly, his voice muffled, probably by his own hand. His hips tense up, pressed to Hyakkimaru’s sides. With his lips, Hyakkimaru senses the hot throbbing under the gentle skin. It is wet. He licks it. Taho moans something incoherent, his hand clenching on Hyakkimaru’s shoulder. It is salty and musky and sweet, sweet somewhere inside his bones. His own cock twitches and throbs painfully, completely untouched. Hyakkimaru drags his lips down, then licks up and covers the head with his mouth. It’s hard to imitate the fingers with just his lips and tongue, but if the sweetest sounds Taho makes are any indication, he does good. He does _more than good_ , obviously, when he decides to suck on it a little.

Taho shudders, his hips slightly bucking up, almost making Hyakkimaru choke. But this is it. Deeper. He gets the idea now. Taho’s fingers fasten in his hair, sending a wave of shiver down his body.

This is where everything gets faster, surer. Hyakkimaru _knows_ that he makes his little brother feel incredible. It fills him with unknown warmth that overshines the curiosity, the pleasure even. His body is tingling with this warmth, all over, from his lips to the tips of his newly grown toes. This is so much better than fighting. Then killing demons even. So much more satisfying.

It doesn’t take him long to make Taho’s body strain and his breath hitch. His hand tugs at Hyakkimaru’s ponytail and pulls him up as he groans _“brother”_ once more, long and breathy this time, shaking all over. But Hyakkimaru wants to sense his little brother’s pleasure. He wants to sense everything. He wants him, whole, in every sense of this word that he knows and doesn’t yet know. _“There is so much more we can do,”_ Taho said last morning. Hyakkimaru wonders what it is as he lays his head down on his brother’s belly and feels him relax and soften, panting deep and long. Hyakkimaru licks his burning lips. His heart pounds in his chest, as heavy and hard as his strained cock.

“Touch me,” Hyakkimaru asks, taking Taho’s hand. Kisses and sucks on his fingertips. Truly, so incredibly soft. A bit salty. Just to feel them will be enough now. Enough to make this shudder turn into a dazzling wave of pleasure.

But what Taho does is something else. He is still slightly uncoordinated when he flips them around, hot and heavy on top of Hyakkimaru. His hand dives between Hyakkimaru’s thighs, causing him to flinch and part them. Slow caresses wake up sensuous responses of yet untouched spots. Stop teasing, _otouto,_ he wants to say, just grip me there. But can’t really say anything besides moaning his name. _Need to feel more._ _Need to hug him with his legs, that way he can feel Taho’s body._ Taho whispers something in his ear, something Hyakkimaru can’t even perceive as words right now – only intimate touches of sound, another form of caress. His fingers are agonizingly gentle, and a bit slick from Hyakkimaru’s kisses, circling and tantalizing _there_ – Hyakkimaru doesn’t know the word since he never talked about it with anyone; and they make him flare up with sudden shame. That was the word, right? Taho taught him last morning. His fingertip presses and then slightly dives in. Hyakkimaru shudders, his breath hitching. He gasps from the sweetest, completely new sensation.

Taho bites on the flaming skin of his neck, continuing to caress him inside, sensations so raw that it’s almost too much. At least, more than Hyakkimaru can process right now. He groans, shifting his hips until Taho muffles him with his mouth. Can’t take it any longer. All his nerves are strained. _Make me come already, little brother._ Taho pulls out from the kiss and retracts his finger as if overhearing his thoughts. He whispers something again, wrapping his hand around Hyakkimaru’s throbbing cock. And indeed, this is enough. Taho watches him, stroking hard, and his glimmering flame fills Hyakkimaru’s vision as he comes.

The moon is shining over them, an invisible mystery of light. Hyakkimaru can almost see it without really seeing. He knows the word now – “imagine _”_. He knows so many words now, words that form images in his head, objects he’s never even seen as flaming shapes. Language is such a great thing. He wonders if the real world is any similar to these images that he built in his head from the words of others and his own limited senses. Lips are sensitive but having fingers must be much more convenient for deciphering the tiniest details…

“I want to get back my hands soon,” Hyakkimaru says. “I want to touch you.”

“Yeah… Though I’m perfectly fine with the idea of you using your mouth,” Taho chuckles, his voice low and viscous like honey.

He is warm and mellowed in Hyakkimaru’s arms. There are tiny, salty bits of sweat on his forehead. His flame is radiating soft, steady light. Soon, Hyakkimaru won’t be able to see this light anymore, and the realization almost fills him with hesitation. But no. He wants to see all the colors. All the little details. And maybe, even if he can’t see the light of souls anymore, he will still _sense_ it somehow, just like he senses what is invisible to him now.

Soon, they will get to that damned Hall of Hell and break the deal. He will slay the last demon who eats on his little brother’s soul. He will chop it up into million pieces and send back to where it belongs. Soon.

 

* * *

His brother is sleeping soundly, his lips parted and his breathing long and deep, when Tahomaru jolts and sits up. His heart is racing. The visions of the nightmare still fill up the darkness. There is a buzz in his ears, a buzz of the clouds of locust. His mouth is as dry as the soil under the harsh sun, barren and cracked. He smells not the scents of the mountain forest, but a stench of sickness and death. The drums of war are merging with women’s and children’s cries.

Tahomaru squeezes his head, shaking it furiously. The images dissipate, leaving a blunt heaviness in his temples. He scrambles to his feet, unsteady, still not completely back to reality. The waning moon that lost its perfect shape shines high in the sky, between the two dark peaks looming over the trees. It means the night is a bit more than halfway through, probably the first division of the hour of the Tiger.

Fully clothed and armored, the brothers are settled by the entrance of the shrine where the saved children are sleeping. But the night is peaceful and silent. No ghoul is approaching, and no army is chasing them. Is father waiting for them to make a move, Tahomaru wonders, or are they so deeply lost in the wilderness that no one can find them?

He descends the stone steps to the courtyard, feeling the throbbing in his temples slowly fade away. The old stones of the sacred place are glistening with faint silver, casting shadows deep and sharp. The moonlit sky is ghostly-blue, thin like the layers of silk of his mother’s kimono. Hyogo and Mutsu, he thinks, are they watching the same moon now or do they see nothing anymore? What if his nightmare is happening in the reality somewhere in his domain, in this very moment?

_“And may all this land die and rot, if that is its karma."_

Was it him who really uttered those words? Could he betray everything just like that, on the spur of a moment? Their land, people, their lifelong aspirations?

The sensations of his brother’s caress still linger on his body, filling his chest with this big shiny _something_ that it’s hard to breathe. It gets even harder as he remembers the way Hyakkimaru’s lips burned on his skin, the way he held him carefully like something precious. The way he refused to let go. Tahomaru inhales deep and sharp, his body shivering with the reminiscence. He wanted to take his brother, right there and then, wanted so badly he barely held it back. Not now, he told himself, they will have time for this. Will they? He is enjoying his little happiness while his land is in danger. How could he, the heir, fall that low? Is his selfish love worth it?  

Tahomaru turns, looking back to where his brother is sleeping peacefully, Tahomaru’s jacket wrapped around his shoulders. He can cut his throat quietly in his sleep. After that, he can kill himself all he wants. At least he will die relieved of this burden, and his land will be saved.

 _Stupid!_ – he slaps himself on the forehead, halting. That nightmare completely muddled up his mind. He doesn’t need to kill his brother anymore, for even if Hyakkimaru slays the demons who stole his eyes and hands, Tahomaru’s own deal with the Twelfth will remain. He doesn’t need to go to the Hall of Hell and break it. He doesn’t need to turn into a living demon either. All he needs to do is…

A sudden whoosh shakes the silence of the night. Tahomaru startles and turns around, the sword in his hand cutting the air to ward off a blow or an arrow, but none follows. The sound, deep and hollow, continues to flow. It is the sound of the bamboo flute, Tahomaru realizes.

On the shrine courtyard illuminated by the moon, he distinguishes a dark shadow. It wasn’t there a moment ago before Tahomaru turned to look back at his brother, but now it sits by the ashes of the bonfire as if it’s been sitting there forever. The cloaked silhouette with a huge, unhuman head is perfectly still, only the fingers shift up and down the _shakuhachi_ , drawing a tuneless melody. It sounds like restless thoughts, low notes windy and high notes creaking, alternating like shifting images of a dream.

Tahomaru closes his eye but sees only red. The red surrounds him, blinding, suffocating. He flicks his eye open. The demon is playing tricks on him again, as it seems. But this time, he won’t succumb.  

The melody begins to subside and turns meditative as Tahomaru slowly moves closer, his sword lowered to his hip but ready to strike. What he distinguishes among the shadows is indeed a human form with a large, basket-like woven hat hiding his head down to his chin. Tahomaru exhales with relief. Just a _komuso_ , a wandering monk of emptiness. One of those who have the exclusive rights granted by the Shogun to travel across the country, playing their flutes in the search of enlightenment, as their Zen practice requires. Tahomaru knows that his father grew highly suspicious of them over the years as it was too easy for spies to sneak around their land under the disguise of komuso. A reed hood worn on the head, manifesting the absence of a specific self, was often to hide a cold-blooded ninja.

The komuso takes the flute from his lips and slowly puts it down, acknowledging his presence.

But the sound continues to flow. It grows stronger, then slowly fades but lingers, an airy tune trembling and swirling intricately until the new harsh blow would follow. Now, it sounds like gusts of wind rising in the emptiness. Tahomaru feels the shivers creeping down his arms. A chill, not that of the mountain night but deeper, sharper, pierces through his bones.

A monotone voice muffled by the hat, the voice with no personality, no gender, nor even signs of age, comes from within, beginning to chant slowly “ _I-ro ha ni-ho-he-to…”_ _:_

“Even the blossoming flowers will eventually scatter. Who in our world is unchanging?”

Tahomaru knows the old chant, _Iroha no uta_ , which contains every syllable only once. Children learn kana in its order. He finishes in his thoughts, _“The deep mountains of karma — we cross them today and we shall not have superficial dreams nor be deluded.”_

His katana rips through the thick air, through the windy sound of the flute and stops at the monk’s neck, just under the brims of his hat. Tahomaru presses slightly until meets the resistance of the solid flesh. Not a wraith.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“I am no one,” the komuso doesn’t flinch, not even slightly. “And so shall be you, soon.”

The sword tilts down, suddenly too heavy in his hand.

“Explain your words!” Tahomaru demands harshly but his voice comes out faint. It dies in the emptiness, gets drowned by the ghostly tune.

“Soon, your soul will be swallowed by the demon, and your existence will cease,” the komuso says, expressionless as if just stating the fact. “For you have made up your mind.”

Tahomaru feels his knees turn into jelly. He swallows hard on a wad of bitterness.

The tune is swirling, encircling them in the cocoon of darkness and silver shadows, until there’s nothing left except for the trembling sound, the dark figure before him and the waning moon above him. Tahomaru is seated across the cold ashes from the monk, his katana back in the scabbard. The liquid _nothing_ flows through his veins. The melody reverberates in the hollowness of his chest.

“How do you know it?” he asks, only half-wondering as if he’s sleeping and seeing a dream. And maybe he is?

“I hear it in this tune, for it is the tune of your mind. You are ready to sacrifice not just your life, but your whole eternity for your people, aren’t you?”  

“Of course, I am,” the words come out firm and heavy from Tahomaru’s mouth as if he really has made the decision. He can’t feel any wavering anymore. “They are suffering.”

“People suffer all the time, everywhere. This is how this world is. Your people aren’t any different.”

“And what should I tell them?” a sudden wave of anger rises within him along with the harsh sound of the flute. “‘My people, the days of your prosperity are over and now you will be suffering and dying in thousands from all sorts of calamities, for your lord’s soul is too precious to him’?”

“So, you don’t intend to break the deal,” the komuso concludes. “But you still hope to defer your part for as long as you can endure, don’t you?”

The tune around them falls like a wave, becomes thin, dragging gently until it’s a clear vibrato. A lump is forming in Tahomaru’s throat.  

“My brother… he said that I can fight it.”

“What for?”

This question takes Tahomaru aback. The answer isn’t here immediately, for he never really thought about it.

“For… time.”

“Time is nothing when it’s filled with the fear of inevitable parting. You will only grow more attached to the pleasures of this world, and your pain will be severe,” the komuso says. “To fight means only to postpone the inevitable. Even if you manage to keep your soul for as long as you’re alive, the demon still will get what’s left of it after you die. Besides, to fight it means to violate your side of the deal.”

Tahomaru says calmly, “So, once I die, the wellbeing of my people will be ensured? Then the choice is obvious.”

“Yes. But you won’t simply die. You will lose your eternal soul. There will be no heavenly gardens, no next lives, nor even the depths of hell for you. Your soul will die, and only nothingness will remain of what was Tahomaru, the heir of Daigo. You will become but a fading memory.”

“Then… All I can do is to make sure it will be a good memory.”

“Memory of the living is short and treacherous,” the komuso notes.

“It can’t be helped, as you said. There is no other way. May it be so.”

“Actually, there _is_ another way,” for the first time during their talk, the komuso’s figure slightly shifts as his head rises a little. “I can help you. If you grant your life to _me_ , I will ensure that the Twelfth doesn’t get your soul.”

The sound of the flute hitches, and the air shakes shortly.

“You— You are the demon!” Tahomaru gasps. “You are one of them!”

“Yes,” comes the impassive voice. “But I am not as greedy as Asura, or the Twelfth, as you call it. Just your life and nothing more will satisfy me. Just your life, but _right now_.”

Tahomaru feels his crazy heartbeat rip through the tune like a fast drum. But the emptiness within his veins grows only colder. “Then… what about my land?”

“I will protect it for as long as your life should have lasted.”

“Will you fight with the Twelfth for my soul, then?”

“I don’t need to fight for anything. A human will is a rule for us; we can take nothing unless you give it to us yourself. If you make the deal with me, your deal with Asura will be over. So, isn't it quite a bargain? If you agree now, I can even make sure that your position in the next life will be no lower than in this one.”

“I’m a samurai, not a merchant to bargain with you, demon,” Tahomaru rises his chin. “If you grant the prosperity for my people, I accept.”

“Good,” the voice of the komuso— _the demon_ is no longer serene; there is lusty greed in it. “So, give it. Give your life to me _now_.”

Tahomaru slowly pulls out his _tanto_ knife. The whirlpool of light and shadow freezes around him. The tune freezes too, on a single suffocating note, and he can take no breath of air anymore. He inhales the liquid nothingness.

The steel feels freezing-cold, pressed to his throat. There is no other way. No better way. He said that he is a samurai… yet he has made the bargain, and no one will offer him a better one. Just his life. A ridiculously cheap price for the safety of thousands. He will die fast, released from the burden. Really, what he has to postpone it for? What was there, in this life, that he grew so attached to? What was it… he can’t remember… can’t remember anymore…

 

* * *

Hyakkimaru jumps to his feet, suddenly awakened by the _red_. The demonic red is everywhere, it surrounds him like that centipede’s cloud, and nothing is seen through it. No soul of his brother, nor Dororo or children. No living soul, nowhere. He turns around hectically, quickly losing his sense of direction.

“Taho!” he shouts. “Dororo!”

No answer. Only a strange, creepy sound of some music he didn’t notice earlier, taken aback by the red. It’s nothing similar to Mio’s singing, not even to the music Hyakkimaru heard at the Daigo festival while they traveled through that big city. It is like a wind wailing or a faint crying, or like Taho whispering gently into his ear, all at once.

“Tahomaru!”

His arms are thrown away. His blades cut the red but meet no resistance. He slices the empty air.

“Dororo!”

The cold sweat covers Hyakkimaru’s body. Not even a thud can be heard when he takes a stone from the ground and throws it blindly. The music washes away each and every sound, just like the silence of that enchanted forest did yesterday. Is it the same magic? The same demon? But there was no red in that forest…

The sound isn’t here to help him. His vision is completely useless. What’s the point in distinguishing the evil if evil is the only thing that surrounds you? He needs his eyes back. He _needs_ them, or he will lose the ones most dear to him. _He will lose them._ He will lose Taho and Dororo! Or did he already— Where are they?!

The burning in his chest, more intense than that of a fire, makes Hyakkimaru crouch. A scream rips through his throat – but drowns, drowns in the demonic tune. Hyakkimaru spins and cuts, strikes, spears, but can’t dissect the sound. He can’t even muffle it by his own roar. His knees hit the ground. He is panting. The fear he never knew before makes him nauseatic.

That is when something soft grips his shoulders, and a faint voice breaches through the red: “ _Aniki! Aniki!_ ”

“Dororo!” a wave of relief almost knocks him out.

“Can you hear me now? I woke up because of the music… Why were you spinning and striking the air left and right? It’s like in that forest again? We can’t hear each other a few steps away?”

“Dororo…” Hyakkimaru pulls her to himself, holding her tightly with just his elbows and trying to be very careful with his blades. Only now he can distinguish the white flame through the veil of red. Dororo mumbles something, her face pressed against his chest.

“…Okay, release me now. What’s this all about?”

“Where’s Taho?” he asks.

“Right there, by the bonfire, with that monk. Can’t you see them?”

“What monk?”

“You know, a wandering monk, like our Priest but with a flute, not biwa… remember we saw them once on the road when— Wait!” she stops mid-sentence. “He isn’t playing it! The flute! It lays on his knees! Where this music comes from?”

“The demon,” Hyakkimaru spits out, rising to his feet. “Take me there. I can’t see. Everything is red.”

“Like with that centipede? Oh, shit.”

“What is Taho doing?”

“He just talks with him— Oops, it’s like he’s angry at something now. He pulls out… Is it a knife? Oh, shit, bro, he takes it to his own throat! Is he under a spell?! Taho, you idiot!!!”

The time freezes with the melody, turns thick and cold like a slow river. Dororo pulls him sharply forward, screaming something. But each step through the red feels like an eternity. Hyakkimaru feels like he is stuck in a nightmare. They won’t make it in time across the courtyard. He can’t even throw his sword to pierce that monk demon for he can’t see him; and even if he could see, he doesn’t have a mere second to return and put on his prosthetic hands to do so. Taho is under a spell and he won’t hear them. Hyakkimaru knows that in the next heartbeat, it will be over. He wants to tell his heart to stop—

A clear sound of a string breaks through the tune. It rings out again, and again, and again, until the flute falters, overlapped by the harsh melody of biwa. The next moment, it breaks the demon’s tune, tears the red fog into multiple shaggy veils until it disintegrates completely – and gets sucked into a bright crimson, human-shaped figure rising a few steps behind the white flame of his brother.

Hyakkimaru grits his teeth, a low roar bubbling in his throat. _Demon._ Here it is.

There is another white figure under the trees, at the left side of his view, where the wobbly sound of biwa strings comes from.

“The Priest!” Dororo screams, her voice now clear and loud as it should be.

“Seems like I happened across you just in time,” crackles a familiar voice. The biwa keeps playing, but no flute is heard anymore.  

Taho jumps to his feet as if suddenly awakened. He swings and points his katana before him like there is somebody, yet he doesn’t notice the demon behind his back. But Hyakkimaru is already there. His blades cut through the red figure that looks more like a samurai than a monk, that long thing in its hand is a sword, not a flute. But the demon doesn’t get a chance to use it. Hyakkimaru cuts it into several red pieces. They scatter around him. So easy this time.

The hot slick blood covers his skin. The red quickly fades. Red always fades quicker than white. Hyakkimaru stands still, panting, waiting for his eyes to see what it looked like. Or maybe for his hand to grow up and push away the prosthesis. He feels a faint tingling in his left shoulder. His hand, then…

The tingling fades. Nothing happens.

“Brother!..”

There is a clash of steel just above his head as Taho’s sword blocks the red blade of another ghoul. Hyakkimaru failed to notice it approaching – or did it appear right there out of nothing? No, not a ghoul! A demon, one more!

Taho, red sparks all over him, shouts, “Dororo! Hide in the shrine and keep the children inside!” as he attacks the demon with full force, causing another red, samurai-shaped form to stumble backward. The sword is knocked out of its hand. The demon reaches to pull out his second sword, but not fast enough: Taho already raises his katana to finish it. And freezes.

“You—” he gasps.

The demon strikes immediately, diving forward, aiming for Taho’s open legs, and it takes for Hyakkimaru his whole speed to cover his brother in time. One blade cuts off the demon’s arm, another one pierces through its chest. The demon crushes with a heavy thud of an armored body, beginning to fade even before the head hits the ground.

Again, Hyakkimaru feels the tickling in his shoulder, but nothing happens.

Hyakkimaru growls. He swings and cuts off another arm from the fading red shape. Dororo screams something from the shrine doors, but right now, he can’t understand. He stabs it once more, in the belly. Why?! Two demons killed, and he gets nothing back?! Why?

“Give it back!” he snarls as he strokes to cut that thing’s head off. His blade meets Taho’s sword.

“Stop it already! He’s dead!” He grasps Hyakkimaru’s elbow.

“Why?! I killed them, why I don’t get my arms back?!”

“Hm, very interesting indeed,” the voice of the Priest approaches. He stops beside them. Dororo is clutching at his robe, her flame flickering with a disturbance. _Fear_. What does she fear? He killed the last two demons, there’s nothing to worry about anymore.

Except for _where is his eyes and arms?!_

“Why did you get out? I told you to stay inside and look after the children!” Taho is still alarmed. He commands them to move to the shrine entrance to cover it in case another attack follows. The little white souls begin to peek out curiously, awakened by the commotion. Dororo drives them inside.

“I don’t think you really killed these two,” the Priest says slowly, his voice reflective, as he sits down on the stone steps. “Or better to say, you killed these two, but you didn’t kill the demon who possessed them.”

“Possessed?” the blood still throbs in Hyakkimaru’s head, and it’s hard to concentrate on the words. Tahomaru doesn’t let go of his shoulder.

“That monk with the flute disappeared into the forest when Taho tried to attack him,” Dororo explains. “And then these two samurais jumped out of nowhere.”

Hyakkimaru is bubbling with frustration as he can’t understand a single thing. He couldn’t see any monk, and it seemed to him that Taho attacked emptiness. He doesn’t understand why his brother froze, hesitating to finish the second demon, either.

“The second one… it was the same ronin,” Tahomaru mutters. “The one whom I beheaded yesterday. And the first one… I may have seen his face among that squad, too.”

The Priest watches him for a moment.

“That explains things. The demon just used their bodies.”

“But I killed only one of them,” Taho says, pointing his hand to the side. Hyakkimaru can’t see anything on the ground anymore. The glow has faded, leaving nothing he could perceive. “The first was probably killed by the demon.”

“Then, that monk is the real demon?” Dororo asks.

“He may be,” the Priest says. “I couldn’t see him either, but that flute… Very strong charm. With it, he probably lures people into death to add their lives to his own,” the Priest says, turning to look at Tahomaru again. “Like he tried to lure you, young one.”

Hyakkimaru feels the hot fingers of his brother twitch on his shoulder.

“How can you tell if you couldn’t see him?” Tahomaru asks.

“But I heard.”

“You could hear things through that music?” Dororo exclaims. “How?! Are you—”

“Oh, I just have a good hearing,” the Priest says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Yes, about that! What did he say to you, Taho?” Dororo asks angrily. “Why the hell you wanted to—”

“I can’t remember clearly,” Taho answers, his voice flat. His flame is a bit dimmer than always. “It was like a dream.”

“So, that demon can put a spell on people so that they kill themselves, or it can just use any dead body,” Dororo sums up. “Which means we may be attacked at any moment. Wait— what if these two will rise again?”

“I don’t think they will,” the Priest says. “These poor men died twice, and there is no rising from the second death. But how many people have perished in these mountains, we cannot tell.”

“Then, it may bring a full-blown army here!” Dororo says anxiously.

Hyakkimaru watches her, a white glow rippling, still swaying with fear. She holds his prosthetic hands at her chest like she always uses to. He doesn’t want to take them. He doesn’t want to put them on ever again, and _he won’t,_ now that he has encountered the demon who possesses his arms.

“Dororo,” Hyakkimaru says, “It will be alright. Even if a full-blown army, I’ll kill them all.”

 _“Aniki!”_ the swaying of the flame intensifies.

“I’ll kill them. I’ll get my arms back.”

“How do you know it’s your arms?” Taho asks.

“I feel. My left shoulder. It tingled. I just need to kill them all to get it.”

“Not before we bring these children back to their parents,” Taho says harshly.

“Why?” the blood begins to pulse in Hyakkimaru’s temples again. He shakes off Taho’s hand from his shoulder, turning around to look at his brother. How long it will take to go to that village and then back? He can’t stay like this any longer! How can he not understand?

“Because we need to ensure their safety, that’s why! Now, it is more important!”

“Then you go. I will kill it myself,” Hyakkimaru grits his teeth. _More important?_ They don’t even know those children; how can they be more important to him than his own brother? Why is he like that again? Like at the Banmon? When he chose the domain over him and called him a demon…

“You couldn’t even see the monk through that red, bro!” Dororo reminds him. “Had the Priest not come, you would—”

Right. He would have lost his brother. He would have let Taho die. Because he had no eyes to see anything. Because he had no hands to throw his sword at the demon. Because he can’t protect anyone like that!

“Then go with me!” he snaps. “Be my eyes! We’ll find that monk and—” 

A harsh slap almost makes him flip backward. His cheek burns. Hyakkimaru stumbles, gripping his face with unbelief. Taho hit him? Why?..

“Snap out of it!” Tahomaru’s voice grazes, sharp and commanding. “First, we must take care of the children! Our duty is to protect the weak who rely on us. Only after that, we can think about ourselves.” He lowers his voice as he adds, “Or do you want the story of Mio and those children to repeat?”

Hyakkimaru inhales sharply, the pain clenching his chest. His words hit stronger than his hand.

 

* * *

_“I won’t offer you this again. You could’ve died with honor for the sake of your people. You could’ve paid the cheapest price, but you have chosen to pay the biggest. Either that or to break the deal and see your people die in thousands. Now, live with it.”_

The demon-monk’s last words won’t leave his ears for the rest of the night. Tahomaru wonders if this priest with biwa, whose face seems somewhat familiar, heard them too, or did those words resound solely inside his head as he tried to reach the demon with his sword, only to see him shifting with undiscernable speed away from each stroke. He vanished into the shadows just like he appeared. Tahomaru couldn’t see his soul at all.

The demon whose body is composed of the dead bodies of others, the ghostly monk being his voice… How to defeat it? They will have to come up with some strategy, Hyakkimaru’s straightforward approach won’t do this time.

Tahomaru watches his brother from the corner of his eye as they sit on the stairs, waiting for the night to end. No dead body attacks them anymore, and no music is heard, but no one sleeps. Dororo is curled by her aniki’s side, her head on his lap, but her eyes are open. She is watching the darkness. Hyakkimaru, his back against the wall, keeps his eyes closed, but his flame is too turbulent for a sleeping man, the glints of red only a bit smaller than they were earlier when he chopped the dead ronins with a wild determination. Tahomaru shudders at the thought. His brother’s sleeves are still soaked with blood. They washed their hands after they put the bodies away, under the trees, and made a quick pile of brushwood over them, but the blood on their clothes will remain at least until they get to the village.

Tahomaru’s face twitches painfully as he remembers his brother’s wounded face after he slapped him with those words. He shouldn’t have. That was low. But he couldn’t find another way to bring Hyakkimaru back to his senses. It was scary, to witness his brother become like this. It was even scarier to look at his soul. There was a big red spot in place of his heart.

The urge to reach out and touch him, hold him, is so strong Tahomaru squeezes his eye shut. He tries to concentrate on his breathing.

That’s when he feels a light touch on the back of his hand.

“Why did that samurai’s head grow out again?” a little voice asks. Tahomaru flips his eye open. One of the children, Sunako, if he isn’t mistaken, looks up at him with big eyes. Tiny speckles powder her cheeks and the nose like sand. She seems smaller than Dororo, but perhaps is around the same age. “I’m afraid.”

“Don’t be,” Tahomaru smiles at her, patting her head. “If any bad men come again, we'll deal with them.”

“I don’t want back to those samurais,” she says, frowning with determination.

“No samurai will catch you anymore, I swear. Tomorrow, you will be back to your parents.”

“Papa has died,” Sunako says, pressing her lips. “But I have mama and brothers and sisters. I miss them so much.”

“They miss you too, I’m sure,” Tahomaru says, his voice soft. “Take good care of them.”

The girl smiles to him as she leans in and whispers confidentially, covering her mouth with her small palm: “You are a prince, right? I know, your dress is so beautiful. And you said to those samurais that you won’t let them harm your people. You will protect us now, right? Then I won’t be afraid anymore.”

“I surely will,” he says, feeling a lump forming in his throat. “Now go, you must sleep well to be strong, for the road is long.”

The girl nods to him cheerfully and runs away.

Tahomaru looks down at his clenched hands. There is blood on them, but he protected these children. _His people._ He saved them with his own hands not just from those unfortunate ronins, but from the demon who would’ve gotten their lives tonight, too. The same demon who promised him to protect his people in exchange for his life.

Should he have proceeded with the deal, would the demon have spared the children?

He shakes his head. This is not the point. The point is—

“These human hands are the most powerful weapon,” he hears the Priest say, echoing his thoughts. “If we use them wisely. No supernatural powers are more strong than a pair of human hands. Do not regret.”  

Hyakkimaru flinches at that and opens his eyes. He may not have his real eyes yet, but his human reflexes are already there. His prosthetic hands are back on, covering his blades; he clenches his mechanical fingers, frustration oozing from him, almost palpable.

“His plan was nice,” the Priest continues, his voice quiet. “He wanted to trade your life so that he could get your body for himself. That way it would be hard for Hyakkimaru to fight him. But he forgot that Hyakkimaru can’t see faces. He would’ve seen only the demonic flame.”

“How could he forget that?” Dororo asks, sitting up. “This demon, doesn’t he know that aniki hasn’t defeated the eyes demon yet?”

“Hasn’t he?” the Priest raises his brow. “Did you count well? How many demons you already defeated?”

“Nine,” Hyakkimaru answers immediately.

“So, the Tenth and the Eleventh have your arms. And the Twelfth failed to take anything from you. It means there was a demon that you killed but never got anything back, wasn’t there?”

“The Banmon! That fox demon!” Dororo exclaims.

“I happened to be in the Hall of Hell around the time you defeated it. I saw one of the statues being sliced by blue fire. But there was another one – the three-faced shape of Asura who was locked, but somehow got free shortly after that. And the first thing I saw was his eyes glowing purple. Maybe he stole them from you back then.”

“I… could’ve got my eyes at the Banmon?” Hyakkimaru gasps. He could have seen his mother. He could have seen Taho. He could have seen _that man…_

 _Serves you right,_ Tahomaru wants to say, the pain in his eyehole and the grudge suddenly swelling inside him like a wave. He closes his eye and takes a deep breath. _Stop it, demon,_ he thinks. _Stop blow the flame out of those ashes._

“But why was he set free?” Dororo asks.

“Who knows,” the Priest shrugs, “but the answer may lay with that strange headless statue of Goddess of Mercy that I found on the battlefield. It was alive, but quickly fading, as if the power of the Goddess had left it.”

“It was our mother’s statue,” Tahomaru says. “I think I understand now.”

The Goddess's protection over Hyakkimaru was taken away the very moment their mother betrayed him, chosing the wellbeing of the land over her son. It is then that Asura was unlocked and started to devour what he could get...

Hyakkimaru turns to him, puzzled, but Tahomaru can’t bring himself to say it. He knows this feeling of being abandoned by his own mother, knows it too well. And so does his brother. No need to stir the pain once again. 

“So, one more reason for us to go to the Hall of Hell,” he says instead. “To reclaim your eyes from that thief.”

Hyakkimaru finally looks up at him, his face slowly unfreezing. _I do care,_ Tahomaru wants to say, _don’t even consider that I don’t. But our duty is bigger than us._

Tahomaru can’t understand anymore why he even considered keeping his deal with Asura. Those nightmares and the demon’s spell probably messed up his mind, although he felt like he was thinking clearly. But he already decided that he doesn’t want the demons’ help. He made his choice on the cape. He will keep his land safe with his own hands, even if he must fight his father for that. There should be a way to deal with the disasters. And he— no, _they_ will find it.

 

* * *

The valley looks disturbingly barren from up above, but once they descend to the village, it is hell itself. The land is sticky, covered with brown mud, and the fallen trees are lying here and there, mixed with debris. The rice paddies have turned into swamps. A lot of houses are wrecked, others are but remnants.

The sun is high and scorching ruthlessly, making the mud on the sunny spots dry out stone-hard. The air is stale and musty. The flood seems recent, as many people are still wandering around the chaos, searching for their belongings or maybe for the bodies of their relatives.

“Mama!” Sunako jumps from the horse that Tahomaru is leading and runs up to the skinny, weary woman by one of the houses. It seems old and shabby but untouched by the flood.

“Sunako?” the woman gasps as the child presses to her, hugging her legs. “Did you escape?! I've said you must go with those men, have I not?!”

Tahomaru gapes, rooted to the spot, as the woman slaps her daughter with the back of her hand.

“Don’t hit her!” Dororo rushes to the girl and steps in between. “Aren’t you her mother?! How could you give her away to that ronins?!”

“Have you really sold your child to them?” Tahomaru asks as he steps forward. He can’t believe the scene he witnesses. The woman turns to him, her eyes going wide as she notices his rich garments. “Why did you do that?”

“My lord…” she stutters, “my husband has died this spring, the flood took away all we had, our stores are gone, and the rice paddies washed away. We have nothing to eat! I can’t feed this child, and I've got seven more! They won’t survive unless I get the money! Those samurais were generous, and they said they would let her eat properly…”

“You do know what they took her for, do you not?” his voice drops low.

“Yes, my lord… but she is old enough and knows how to take care of men. My lord… Please take her for yourself, if you wish!”

Tahomaru can’t believe his ears. Never has he seen the people so wrecked, so desperate in their misery as to offer their own children for samurais to use. Saying nothing, he blindly strides back to where his brother stays, holding the horses. His feet get sucked in the mud. His nose is full of rotten stench. How could it come to this in his domain?

“What is around?” Hyakkimaru asks. He turns his head left and right, struggling to understand. “Describe.”

“There was a flood. Recently, as it seems,” Tahomaru tells, his voice empty. “The houses are broken. The people are all skinny and exhausted… probably there was a drought earlier, too. They were starving for a while. A group of men is peeling up corpses by the riverbank, preparing to burn them. There are no more green, no fields, no trees. The children that we have saved are running down the street to their parents; some are hugging them, and some are scolding.”

Dororo rejoins them. Her fists are clenched, and her teeth are pressed tightly.

“I can’t fucking believe it! How can parents just throw their child away! My mama was starving too, yet she never let me down—”

“Not all parents are as strong as your mother,” Tahomaru says calmingly. “Besides, that woman has other children to feed. She decided to sacrifice one to give a chance to the others. But I don’t think it was easy for her.”

“But she wasn’t even glad to see her daughter back and safe! She looks like she doesn’t give the slightest damn!”

“I’m sure she does care, but she’s careful to not let her heart get in the way.”

“She is… suffering,” Hyakkimaru says, staring intently at the mother who is no longer scolding the child, too exhausted to keep her anger boiling any longer. “Her flame is barely glowing.”

“Of course, she is suffering. No one would be happy to throw one’s child away, even if it’s for the sake of the others.”

“ _He_ was,” Hyakkimaru says, his voice harsh.

Tahomaru looks at him. There’s a shadow on his brother’s grim face, his lip curved bitterly.

“I believe he wasn’t,” Tahomaru says softly.

“He got what the demons gave him. He was happy.”

“I guess happiness can be bitter too.”

Hyakkimaru replies nothing as they stay there, shoulder to shoulder, looking at the scenery of death and devastation. Why the gods were so cruel to this land, Tahoumaru thinks, that his father had to feed his own soul to the demons along with the life of his firstborn son, his heir? Was it the same back then, before his birth, or was it a thousand times worse? Will it be, from now on? Is this only the beginning? Why Asura isn’t keeping his deal, or did this flood strike before Tahomaru offered his soul?

“Daigo,” Hyakkimaru utters, breaking Tahomaru’s reverie. “You called me that yesterday. Daigo… Hyakkimaru.”

“Yes. It is who you are. And this is your land, too,” Tahomaru says. “In truth, you’re an heir, not me.”

Hyakkimaru turns to him, abashed.

“No. I’m not, I don’t want it,” he says, his words rushed with panic. “I can’t. I—”

“It’s alright,” Tahomaru smiles, placing a hand oh his shoulder soothingly. “I can’t ask you to take that burden. Yeah… I just tried to pass it on you out of weakness. Forgive me, _aniue_.” He sneers at his own breakdown.

It is his to bear. His brother has been burdened enough. He isn’t even _born_ yet completely into this world… Tahomaru inhales deep, filling his lungs to the full with the rotten air. _This is his land._ He shakes up and says: “Let’s go find the chief of this village.”

 

* * *

  
“The flood struck three days ago,” the chief, an elderly man with clear, warm eyes, begins to tell as they are being served dinner in his plain, shabby house. “It came suddenly, my lord, and we were unprepared as there were no rains; we only saw a short storm above the mountains. But the mountain rivers here are treacherous: they can turn into a rushing stream overnight since their beds are too narrow and can’t hold a lot of water. It gushed down to the valley like a tsunami wave.”

“Three days ago…” Hyakkimaru repeats the chief’s words.

Tahomaru flinches: yes, it could be that. Maybe the flood came the very moment Hyakkimaru slew the demon shark that day. Or maybe a little after: the water couldn’t just appear out of nothingness, it needed some time to gather up. Or maybe it could? He doesn’t ask to confirm.

“My lord, what should we do if the flood comes again?” the chief looks at him with such a hope in his eyes like Tahomaru is Buddha himself, not an exiled fifteen-year-old boy who no longer has any rights to give orders. Well, not that anybody here is aware of it yet…

“Now, it looks more like the drought is coming,” Tahomaru remarks musingly.

“Droughts often tormented this wretched piece of land before the Great Lord defeated the demons,” the chief nods, somewhat apologetically.

Tahomaru scoffs bitterly. The demons again, he thinks in frustration. Can’t this land be ruled without the help of the demons, damn it! But they have time until the deal is broken. For the time being, these people are relatively safe.

For how long can he postpone it? And what he can do in the meantime to secure their wellbeing?

“The crab,” Hyakkimaru blurts out of the blue.

“My lord?” the chief looks at him, perplexed, and then bends in a deep bow: “I am deeply sorry that there are no crabs in this river, my lord, and that we are only able to serve you this fish—”

But Tahomaru realizes what his brother means in a second.

“The dam!” he exclaims, remembering his own strategizing to lock the monster crab in one of the lagoons alongside the big lake, the system of channels and gates he elaborated in a few days. “There is a way to secure this land from floods as well as droughts. All you have to do is to work hard.”

“My lord, we will do whatever you ask!” the chief says enthusiastically.

“Good. You will have to dig a large pond up the riverbed and connect it with the river by channels. It will take in water during high flows and release it again during low flows. The stored water shall be enough to use during the periods of drought. The work is hard and will take a long time, but once it’s done, you will be safe from the disasters.”

“My lord, this is a great plan!”

“Find and bring here those who have knowledge of this land, its soil and water levels. A detailed plan must be elaborated.”

“Yes, my lord! But… if my lord would allow me to mention…”

“What?”

“We have not much men left, my lord. Many have been recruited for war. Many have died in the flood. Our storages are almost gone, too.”

“Send for help to the neighboring villages. I will give the messengers my written orders. It is a work for the benefit of this whole land, not just yours alone. Concerning food—” Tahomaru rubs his chin. He doesn’t have a single coin with him. This dinner they served for him and his companions will most likely leave the villagers’ stomachs empty tonight. It was easy to execute great projects in the center of his domain, near the capital where the land is rich, when he had all the means in his hands. Now, he has nothing except for his about-to-vanish authority. “The Great Lord will surely send you help. Until then, those of you who can hunt must get meat and fish and edible fruits in the mountains: the forests there are rich, and the rivers are full.”

The chief’s face turns pale.

“My lord, it is as you said, but people are afraid to go to those mountains. There is a ghoul or a ghost dwelling there. Many people disappeared in past years, and then we stopped going there.”

“How many people have disappeared?” Tahomaru asks, leaning forward tensely. At his right, Hyakkimaru rises his head, all ears to hear the potential size of the army they will have to defeat.

“No one counted, my lord, but all those years people kept vanishing. It must be a hundred or more. First, we thought it was the neighboring Sakai clan’s doing, but their people also ceased to go to these mountains. None of those who encountered the ghoul has returned to tell what exactly they saw there.”

“But I heard there is a monastery high above,” Tahomaru remembers. “How the monks get the food and other supplies if no one dares to walk there?”

“It is true, my lord; we were providing them with rice and other supplies in the past, and they always paid generously, but no one knows what happened to them now. Only the old and desperate dare to travel there, to the mountain temple to pray to the gods, and few of them have returned. They said that the monastery gates are locked, and its stone walls are high and impenetrable. It looks like nobody lives there anymore as no sound comes from within. But there are talks that the monks have reached the state of Buddha and can live without eating or drinking or even breathing.”

“If no one can get there, then how can they tell this?” Tahomaru raises an eyebrow.

“I am afraid I don’t know, my lord. But no man from our village would go to those mountains to hunt even if they are starving to death.”

“Even if I order them to?”

“We will be happy to die at your hand, my lord,” the old man’s eyes are glistening with tears as he bends in another deep bow.

Tahomaru sighs.

“I don’t need you to die. I and my brother will go there and defeat that ghoul.”

“My lord, I beg you, do not even consider that!” the old man’s face turns almost white.

“We’ve already been there and returned alive, as you see.”

“But my lord… please, change your mind…” the chief presses his forehead to the ground, desperation trembling in his voice.

Tahomaru leans over the table and takes his shoulders, making him rise. An utter shock is spread across the old man’s face.

“Trust me, this is all I ask. Neither I nor my brother will ever abandon our people in need.”

 

* * *

“First, we are hiding on the mountaintops, and you are freaking out at the mere thought of following the river,” Dororo paces the room, her hands crossed behind her head, a frown of perplexity wrinkling her brow. “And now we’re sitting here, in the Daigo village, in the chief’s fucking mansion, and everybody is aware of who we are. I don’t get it. Is it another smart-assed strategy?” 

“Our people need help,” Tahomaru sends her a glare. “I won’t be hiding anymore. If father wants to send an army on us, we’ll fight.”

“ _Even if a full-blown army, I’ll kill them all!”_ she mocks, rolling her eyes. “Brothers indeed.”

Hyakkimaru hums at that. Tahomaru feels a warm tickling in his chest.

“We won’t be staying here for long, anyway,” Tahomaru says. “I need a day to develop the plans and issue orders. After that, we can leave to kill the demon. There’s no time to delay, or the villagers will starve.”

“Do you have a plan how to deal with the demon, too?” Dororo asks, hopeful. Despite her caustic remarks, she seems to have discovered some sense of respect for him after the meeting with the chief.

“I believe I do. But we’ll need the Priest’s help,” Tahomaru turns to the old man who sits in the corner, his back against the wall. “Will you come with us?”

“My biwa may be useful,” he answers simply, a light smirk never really leaving his old wrinkled face. He grunts slightly as he scrambles to his feet. “Now, I'm going to catch some sleep, if you'll excuse me.”

“Won’t you sleep here?” Dororo blinks.

“The night is warm. I prefer to sleep under the stars.”

“You can’t even see them!”

“Why do you think so? The stars are souls, too,” the Priest smiles mysteriously as he walks out.

Tahomaru watches his back. “For how long have you known him?” he asks. “A strange man.”

“We just happen across each other,” Dororo shrugs, “sometimes we walk together, sometimes he disappears. But he is nice!” she adds defensively.

“I’m not saying he isn’t nice, he’s just… strange.”

Outside the doors, the light footsteps rustle, and a small silhouette kneels behind the paper screen. 

“Your bath is ready, my lords,” comes the young voice of the chief’s granddaughter.

“Thank you,” Tahomaru answers, rising.

“Not fair! I wanna take a bath too!” Dororo stomps her feet on the tatami.

A light chuckle is heard behind the door. “I’ll run you a bath too, Dororo-chan. But grandpa told me to serve the lords first.”

“There’s no need,” Tahomaru says. “You may go. Please, take care of Dororo.”

Dororo shoots him a happy smile.

 

* * *

“Don’t you take those off when you bathe?” Tahomaru asks, his hands placed on his brother’s upper arms, where the prosthetics are attached to his body with an unimaginable precision. The perfect mechanisms with multiple moving parts and blades hidden within – the man who made those must be a god of crafts. They should find him. His talents could serve the people across the land, and his knowledge could make a change in sciences.

“No. I can’t do it myself,” Hyakkimaru shakes his head, his loose hair scattering over his shoulders.

Really, how would he take off and then put on his arms _without his arms_? Tahomaru bites his lip, a blunt pain swelling in his chest.

“Let me help you.”

“Why?”

 _Why?_ He doesn’t know why. He just wants to see his brother as he is, no matter how painful it would be. He must see the truth.

They are standing by the side of a large tub, completely undressed, in the clouds of the warm steam. Hyakkimaru’s body is blushed in the soft candlelight. There are marks left by Tahomaru’s lips and teeth all over his skin, red spots on silky white. The bruise on his cheekbone is of darker, purplish shade. The pale lines of scars are glistening here and there. The artificial parts on this _real_ body look so out of place now.

“Well, we have the chance to take a proper bath, so let’s use it,” Tahomaru says, unable to express all this.

He can tell that Hyakkimaru isn’t comfortable with the idea, but he lets Tahomaru proceed anyway. He must feel so vulnerable like this. Tahomaru tastes blood on his lip as he removes and puts away the prosthetics. He unclenches his teeth. His hands slide down his brother’s shoulders and touch the emptiness shortly after the joints. The skin was never wounded here, not by a sword nor by any other weapon, it is smooth and soft like that of a newborn baby. No matter how ingenious the prosthetics may be, there are still dark bruises underneath, left by the rims. Just how on earth it is possible to move the prosthetic fingers only by this short stump of the shoulder? Tahomaru’s breath hitches. He pulls his brother sharply to himself, squeezing his body tightly. He is only missing his arms and eyes now. How was it when he had no skin?

 _“The demons ate everything: eyes, nose, skin, everything, everything!”_ the mad midwife’s words ring out in his memory.

Hyakkimaru can’t hug him back like that, so he just nuzzles his neck. Tahomaru can sense a little smile tugging on his brother's lips.

This serene smile plays on his face the whole time Tahomaru washes the blood and dirt from his body, pouring the warm water with a scoop. Hyakkimaru’s eyes are closed. The red glints are almost gone from his soul.

They’re taking the bath together. The hot blissful water makes them sleepy all too fast, the exhaustion from the sleepless night resurfacing once the strain is gone. Slow kisses and occasional whispers are enough to forget, just for a while, about the devastation outside the thin walls of this house. 

“Taho,” Hyakkimaru says tentatively, his face pressed to the crook of Tahomaru’s neck. It feels hotter than the water. He hesitates for a moment before continuing, “The thing you did last night… Do it again.”

Tahomaru’s hands freeze on his back, halting the slow caresses abruptly. The sleepiness is gone from his body in no time as his heart gives a start and begins to pound heavily. He takes a deep breath, but no air is enough. He wants it so much that the desire clouds his vision. But his brother still has no knowledge of this thing.

“You liked it?” Tahomaru exhales into his hair.

“Yes. I want to feel more,” he says, impatiently.

Now, armless, Hyakkimaru can’t even take his hand to guide it wherever he wants to be caressed. He can’t hug him back. He can’t push him away in case it hurts. Tahomaru shakes his head, tightening his hold on his brother’s body. Not like this. Somehow, it feels wrong now. They will go all the way once his brother returns his arms. Once they are equal. For now, just caresses are enough.

“Why?” there is a touch of hurt in Hyakkimaru’s voice. Having no idea of Tahomaru’s inner struggles, he takes it as a refusal.

“I never said I won’t caress you,” Tahomaru smiles, kissing his earlobe, as he pulls his brother closer to himself, making him straddle his thighs. They’re both hard, pressed together now. Tahomaru holds him with one hand, sliding another one down the small of his back and lower still, where his brother wants it. Hyakkimaru bites on his neck, his breathing getting shaky. “You can’t imagine how much I want you,” Tahomaru can’t help himself from whispering. It is hot and soft and gentle, and far easier underwater. His brother shivers, thirsty, hankering for more. Tahomaru shifts a bit to kiss him on the lips.

“Ta…ho…” Hyakkimaru exhales. “I want to be like you. To know so much… help people…” he struggles to explain as they’re both panting, lips quivering against each other.

 _And I want to be strong and free like you,_ he wants to answer, but the next moment a long moan escapes his brother’s lips as Tahomaru finds it. His sweetest spot. Hyakkimaru digs his teeth into the base of his neck, shuddering with the intense sensations. Tahomaru’s fingers clench on his brother’s back as he strokes it again, speechless, overwhelmed by his love for this strong and fragile, cruel and pure boy whom he tried to kill just three days ago.

They both have so much to learn from each other.

 

* * *

The moon is rising over the hills, waxy-yellow and melting on one side, as a pair of riders rush their horses through the valley. If they’re fast enough, they can still come upon a trail. If they’re not, they will search.

“Don’t lag behind, Hyogo!” a high voice shouts, getting a low grumbling as an answer.

They have made their choice, just like their Young Master made his. There’s no turning back for them now.


End file.
